


What You Should Know

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Budding bromance, Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Injury Recovery, Lyrium Withdrawal, Major Character Injury, Old Friends, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 59,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair arrives at Skyhold to meet with the Inquisition, not expecting to encounter a certain former Templar he hasn't seen since the abominations took over Kinloch Hold 10 years ago. It turns out the memory of Solona Amell still haunts them both.<br/>Originally written as a one-off, then decided to keep it going. Each chapter will alternate between Alistair and Cullen's POV.<br/>In this story, Amell died in the Ultimate Sacrifice and King Alistair rules alone.<br/><a href="http://imgur.com/a07idbs"></a><img/><br/>Artwork by <a href="http://mageflower.deviantart.com/">Mageflower</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One - Alistair

**Author's Note:**

> A lore note: I chose to go with the developers' later corrected story of Alistair's Templar days rather than what he says in Origins about taking lyrium, and may have been loose about the timing of certain events.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Melissagt on the BSN for being my beta on the first chapter.

Alistair surveyed his surroundings and found himself impressed by what he saw. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting, but the feeling was there just the same.

As the King of Ferelden he’d traveled to many fancy estates and palaces (too many by his estimation, bloody royal responsibilities), but that sort of splendor didn’t do much for him. Must be the old Templar and Grey Warden in him, but he found beauty and majesty in the high stone walls of a well-built fortress. How in Thedas it had been hidden away for so long and who exactly had abandoned it? Teagan had informed him that it was in quite a state of disrepair (Andraste’s flaming sword, who or what could possibly have damaged this place?) when the Inquisition had fortuitously stumbled upon it, but it appeared that much of the damage had been repaired.

Clearly the reports of people flocking to join the cause were accurate, the keep was alive with activity. Commoners and agents were bustling to and fro, whispering and staring as they passed, soldiers were training, commerce was flowing, lively sounds of music and mirth were drifting over from the Tavern. Alistair noticed the Circle of Magi banners staked throughout the grounds and smiled wryly to himself. The fact that a circle mage was leading the most powerful organization in Thedas was already driving the nobles and the Chantry absolutely batty, but to flaunt it? Priceless. Solona would have LOVED this, he thought. For the first time since he left Denerim, he felt himself relax. He had a feeling he was going to like this Inquisitor.

Skyhold’s great hall displayed more of that proverbial “up yours” to the Chantry and the nobility – more Circle of Magi symbols everywhere you looked. To add insult to injury, Free Marcher brass sculptures lined the walls, no Orlesian or Andrastian décor in sight. And was that a Ferelden throne? That had to put someone’s knickers in a bunch. The hall was quite deserted, most likely cleared out in anticipation of his arrival. Suddenly a familiar figure was walking up to greet him with outstretched arms.

“Alistair! Your Majesty! It is so good to see you. It has been far too long, has it not? Since your coronation, oh how time has flown.” Leliana gave him a quick bow, embraced him quickly then stepped back to look him over.

“My, the years have been kind, you look even more handsome than I remember. Being a King suits you, yes?” Her voice was deeper and less musical than he remembered.

“It’s good to see you too, Leliana. You look lovely, as well as dangerous. I hear you are not one to cross these days. Hopefully I’m still on your good side?” He kissed the back of her gloved hand.

In the old days she would have giggled like a schoolgirl and blushed, but now she simply gave him a small tight smile. “Alistair, always armed with a joke, you have not changed one bit.” Physically she looked the same, but there was something very different in her eyes – a stark sadness, an unpleasant maturity. He guessed it was to be expected after doing Maker knows what working as a spymaster in the shadows for the last ten years.

With their reunion out of the way, it was time for introductions. Alistair had never had the pleasure of meeting Cassandra but he knew all about her past with the Seekers of Truth and the Divine. And here was Josephine, a woman who had a reputation of possessing unparalleled skills in manipulating nobles to her advantage. Alistair meant to pick her brain before he left Skyhold; even after ten years on the throne he could still use all the help he could get. And Cullen, former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, now the Commander of the Inquisition forces – hold on, why did he look so familiar?

“It is an honor, Your Majesty” Cullen bowed, giving him an odd uncomfortable look, and when he peered up at him, a horrible memory came crashing into his mind. The Ferelden Circle, the abominations…he was that last surviving templar they had found locked in the tower, tortured by a desire demon. The hair was different and he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but it was indeed him. Was this detail in the reports he had read on the Commander? Surely Solona had told Alistair his name, how did he not realize that Cullen and the Kirkwall Cullen were one and the same? He wasn’t sure if it was the taint in his blood or the stress of his vocation, but sometimes he missed details or forgot things like names.

Alistair tried not to betray his discomfort from the memory of the ordeal by laying on the charm.

“Commander, please, the honor is mine. You’ve been very busy stopping this blasted Mage/Templar war and containing demons all over Ferelden and Orlais, very impressive accomplishments.” _I can be pretty smooth when I want to be_ , Alistair thought smugly.

There was no need to call attention to the fact that they’d already met, if you could even call that a meeting. He felt Leliana watching him and continued to look Cullen square in the eye. She hadn’t been with them at the circle that day and he was sure Solona had spared her the gory details (it was funny now to think of Leliana as once being the type of person you would want to protect), but surely by now she knew everything.

Cullen looked at him tentatively with palpable relief. “Thank you Your Majesty, but I cannot take all of the credit. The Inquisitor is the one who leads us. We are very pleased that you were able to come here to see our organization at work for yourself. We’ve made great strides in our efforts since we’ve arrived at Skyhold.”

“The Commander as usual is being entirely too modest, Your Majesty,” Cassandra declared, giving Cullen a bemused look. “We could not have accomplished so much without his expertise.”

“Speaking of our Inquisitor, where is she?” Josephine exclaimed with a huff before Cullen could protest. “She should have arrived by now! My sincere apologies Your Majesty, she should have been back from the Exalted Plains some time ago. Normally Ingrid is very punctual.”

Alistair heard Cassandra snort, watching with amusement as the rest of the advisors shot her a disapproving look. Suddenly there was a loud banging noise as the door to the main hall flew open.

“I’m here, I’m here! Forgive me, we ran into some unexpected trouble on the way.”

An extraordinarily beautiful woman was trotting through the hall toward them, fully decked in mage battle armor and a huge grotesque skull-topped staff flopping on her back. She was fresh from a scuffle apparently; a scrape on her face was still slightly oozing, and caked blood and dirt were all over her leathers and in her short black hair. So this was the famous Inquisitor Ingrid Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste? Alistair couldn’t help but notice that his guards were also watching her with interest.

She rushed up to Alistair and immediately bowed. “Your Majesty, you have my sincere apologies for keeping you waiting. We were ambushed just outside of the Exalted Plains, and--”

“Ambushed? I thought that path had been cleared by our soldiers?” Cullen was angry, but there was something else there…

“Venatori – they seemed to materialize out of thin air."

“Please, don’t concern yourself, I only just arrived. Besides, I needed the extra time to be properly reunited with my old friend here,” Alistair gestured to Leliana. “More importantly, are you alright? I hope no one was seriously injured.”

Cullen was already at her side, inspecting her face. Alistair felt the understanding wash over him – that’s the look of a man concerned for the well being of his love. He had been in that position more times than he could count, also as a former templar, also with a mage. He wondered if Cullen was trying to sense her mana to make sure she hadn’t overextended herself, or if he had lost that ability as Alistair had years ago.

“We are all fine, thank you.” She shooed Cullen away, but not harshly. “I must apologize for my appearance Your Majesty; there wasn’t much time to clean up. I didn’t want to keep you waiting after we wiped the floor with those bastards.”

Alistair definitely liked this woman. “Please Lady Inquisitor, call me Alistair. I insist. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the famous Herald of Andraste. You are quite the talk of Ferelden, let me tell you. The minstrels in Denerim sing songs about you and your adventures, you know. I’m almost jealous having to share the spotlight.” He grinned and kissed her on the back of her hand, noticing Cullen frown ever so slightly.

Ingrid didn’t miss a beat. “Ah yes, I have descended from the Fade assisted by Andraste herself to provide competition for the King of Ferelden! I’m afraid you figured out my master plan.”

“Oh, so is that what the Inquisition is really here for? To steal the adoration of the King? Traitors, the lot of you!”

Ingrid laughed heartily. Pretty, tough, smart (he assumed if she was leading this thing) and witty? She reminded him so much of Solona, he realized with a jolt. They even had the same coloring, although Solona would have never cut her hair short, she was too attached to her long mane.

Josephine cut in. “Welcome back, Inquisitor, I’m sure you have much to report. Your Majesty, you must be weary from your journey, may I show you to your quarters? I do hope they are to your liking. Perhaps you will have a chance to rest before tonight’s banquet.”

As their farewells were exchanged, Alistair found his gaze lingering on Ingrid. If Cullen was anything like him, surely he noticed.

Once he was settled in his chambers, freshly washed and sprawled on the bed, his mind went to Solona. She would quite like the Inquisitor, he thought. Or perhaps not, sometimes when people are too much alike they don’t get along at all; a fact of life he had learned during his many political dealings after taking the throne. Still, he could easily imagine Solona joking with him just as Ingrid had, not being remotely intimidated by stature or title, or getting annoyed with someone fussing over her injuries, or showing up late to an important meeting covered in blood and muck fresh from battle.

The thought brought a smile to his face, but it didn’t last. It may have been ten years but the pain was still there, leagues deep and occasionally coming up for air. He’d had a few relationships with some nice enough ladies, but despite serious pressure from Teagan and everyone surrounding him to find a queen he’d yet to find anyone worth marrying. It sounded insufferably romantic even to him, but Solona had set the bar too high. He let out a heavy sigh.

Cullen, well, that was an unexpected development. He really should go speak to the man, even though it would likely give fresh life to painful memories he had somewhat successfully tucked away out of self preservation. It would be trying, there was no doubt about it, but it’s what Solona would want, and he hoped Cullen would appreciate the gesture. Might as well do it now, otherwise dinner was in jeopardy of being uncomfortable for the both of them, and he intended to enjoy himself tonight.

“Nooo, why would I want to get some sleep? It’s not like I just arrived from a long freezing journey into the mountains and haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days,” Alistair said aloud to no one, and he rose to dress.

***

“Commander? It’s Alistair. Forgive the intrusion, may I come in?”

A clattering noise came from within Cullen’s office, and then a low voice appeared to be swearing. Alistair and his guards exchanged looks. “Yes Your Majesty, of course, please give me a moment!” then an audible hiss “Maker’s breath”.

When a very flustered Commander opened the door, Alistair was taken aback; he did not look well. His eyes were rimmed with dark purple circles, more pronounced than they were earlier. His skin was moist and pale, his hair which had been the image of perfection earlier was rumpled and starting to curl back to its natural state. He noticed the hand that was still holding the door handle was trembling. “Is…everything all right, Commander? I can come back another time. I know you weren’t expecting company.”

“No, please, it’s alright, come in Your Majesty. Forgive the clutter, as you say I was not expecting company.” The words were proper but the voice was strained.

Alistair entered the room, the guards remained outside. There were stacks of reports laying on his desk piled high, books lying on the floor that couldn’t fit in the overflowing bookcase, a training dummy full of expertly landed daggers (perhaps he really shouldn’t have flirted with Ingrid, after all). It was quite the paltry accommodation for a man in his position, he thought; but also being Fereldan he could empathize with the lack of desire for the finer things.

Cullen rushed over to a corner and bent over, trying to pick up something off of the floor and hide it at the same time but not doing a very good job. Alistair would recognize that box anywhere as a lyrium philter kit. He guessed that was the cause of the sound he heard earlier. It didn’t appear that he had taken any recently; if he had there would have been that unmistakable metallic scent in the air and on his breath and faint blue on his lips. Right now the office just smelled of damp stone and armor polish.

Cullen tossed the box into his desk drawer, noticing Alistair eyeing it. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Your Majesty?”

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. If I address you as Cullen instead of Commander, will you call me Alistair? That whole 'Your Majesty' business gets really creepy after a while, especially since we’re practically old friends, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cullen swallowed. “So you do remember. I suppose that’s fair. You have a deal.” He smiled weakly.

“Great! Wonderful. Now that we have that out of the way, I really should get to the point, since I appear to have interrupted…something. Although judging by the look of you, I’m thinking it's a good thing that I arrived when I did.”

Alistair glanced at Cullen’s hands again, this time they were gripping the edge of his desk so hard that the knuckles were turning white. Probably to keep them from shaking, he guessed. Was he ill, or perhaps injured? His posture was rigid, his jaw clenched, almost appearing as if he was bracing for an impact of some sort, his eyes far away but clearly struggling to maintain focus.

Understanding came to him suddenly; Cullen was in the throes of lyrium withdrawal. The poor bastard! He was probably tempted to take some (or actually about to) when Alistair came knocking and he dropped the philter out of surprise. Templars going off of the stuff completely rarely ended well; either they would give up and start taking it again, lose their memories, or worse, die. Alistair was shocked that someone in his position and with his responsibilities would take such a chance. He wondered if the rest of the Inquisition knew, especially Ingrid, and also wondered if Cullen had possibly taken leave of his senses altogether.  

“Ah, I’m not sure what you’re referring to. You just startled me is all.” He rubbed the back of his neck, quickly returning it to its post on the desk once it began to shake.

Alistair stepped further in, his voice softening a bit. “You know, it’s been a while but I was a Templar once. True, I didn’t take my vows, and although I never became addicted I took lyrium long enough to realize the hold it can have on a person. I’ve known of Templars that have tried and failed to stop taking it. I know you don’t know me, and it might be weird with me being your king and all, but you can talk to me. If you are indeed doing what I think you’re doing, you should not endure this alone.”

Cullen’s face crumpled, and Alistair could see all the burden he’d been carrying for who knows how long wash over his normally handsome features. He let out a gasp as if he’d been holding his breath and fell into his chair, holding his head between his hands.

“Maker, it’s RELENTLESS. I thought I could control it. I thought I could quit taking it and still serve the Inquisition. I refuse to be bound to the Templar order any longer, I am sure you can understand that. The pain comes and goes but lately – I just – I am not sure I can do this!”

“I see. Does the rest of the Inquisition know?”

“Since Cassandra is a Seeker I asked her to watch me for any signs that I would no longer be able to fulfill my duties.” He wiped his brow. “The other advisors know, and I recently informed Ingrid - I mean, the Inquisitor. No one else knows, nor will they.”

Alistair gave him a teasing smile. “C’mon, don’t play coy with me. I saw the sparks flying between you two in the hall. I’ve been in a very similar situation, don’t forget. I know ‘Love in the Time of Doom’ when I see it. Hm, ‘Love in the Time of Doom’, that would make a great romance novel, wouldn’t it?”

Cullen rubbed his face, a weary smile creeping across his lips. “You should tell that to Varric,” he said drily. “I guess nothing escapes your notice, Your Maj-Alistair.”

“I am very perceptive, all-knowing and wise. You’ll get used to it.”

They remained silent for a moment.

“You know, for the record I think it’s very brave and honorable, what you’re doing. If you succeed, I can only imagine how much hope that will give other Templars, especially now with the state they’re in. I just don’t think you should suffer it alone. Maker, look at you, you’re a total mess. When was the last time you slept? Why don’t you let Ingrid help you? I don’t know if you realize this, but mages _do_ have healing abilities.”

“No! She has enough to handle, with her mark and the entire world looking to her to save them. It is my burden, not hers.”

Alistair was surprised at how irritated he felt. “Cullen, if she was in your situation, would you not move mountains to help her? Could you imagine her going through the pain you’re suffering right now, all alone? Clearly she has no idea what you’re actually going through. And for what, because you’re trying to protect her? From what I saw earlier, she looks like she can handle herself quite well.”

It was clear from his expression that Cullen hadn’t considered this before, but it was also clear that he was a stubborn man. “It just wouldn’t be right, and I would not ask her to use her mana for my benefit. And it’s not just that, it’s…I don’t want her to see me like this. You can understand that, can’t you? You…you had someone you cared for a great deal in your life. You must know what I speak of.” Cullen gave Alistair a pleading look.

“Hm, you are right, I do. You know, that’s actually what I came to discuss with you, or who, rather. Solona, I mean.”

“Oh? I see.” Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was no longer trembling as severely and some color had returned to his cheeks.

Alistair plopped down into the only other chair in the office. Talking about her always took a lot out of him, which is why he usually avoided it.

“You may recall that I was in Kirkwall briefly while you were serving under Knight-Commander Meredith, and I kept tabs on the situation as it unfolded - by the way, bravo on going against her in the end, gutsy move! She was a tad bit insane, to put it mildly. I was also of course notified of the Inquisition’s formation and I recognized your name during the briefing. I did not realize however that you were also the very same templar we encountered at Kinloch Hold until we met earlier. They really should start including portraits along with those reports…”

Cullen smirked.

"At any rate, here we are, old pals, meeting up again after ten long years. I thought it might be best if we spoke now, because there’s nothing worse than an awkward dinner party. Well, except maybe if that dinner party is suddenly attacked by demons, that would _definitely_ be worse.”

Cullen looked at him in slight disbelief.

“Sorry, I know, ‘Not very funny Alistair, that could actually happen!’ Sometimes I forget about the whole rift thing. We didn’t have those during the blight, thankfully.”

He took a deep breath, and then pushed on. “I know you’ve been on a difficult journey. I can’t imagine what horrors you must have endured at the Ferelden Circle, watching all of your friends die and being tormented by a demon for days. Then to go from the frying pan into the fire to Kirkwall and that whole mess, Orsino versus Meredith, or Crazy Number One versus Crazy Number Two, as I like to call them,” Alistair shook his head in disbelief. “And now look at you! You’re the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, led by a former circle mage, allying with her rebel compatriots to fight an ancient Tevinter Magister, and on top of all of that you’ve captured the Inquisitor’s heart! It’s really quite the story of redemption. They might write a hero’s tale about you someday, or a song, at the very least.”

Cullen sneered. “I’m no hero. I just did what was right in Kirkwall, and it was too little too late. If I’d only acted sooner...”

“You can’t think that way, my friend. You did a lot more than most would in your position,” Alistair rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this, am I? I’ve gotten off track. My point is Solona spoke of you to me, after we saw you in the tower.”

Cullen’s head jerked up. “Did she? Oh Maker, I feel terrible about what I said to her, and what I asked her to do to those innocent mages. Please know that I wasn’t in my right mind, and I wish I could tell her how sorry I am. It was unworthy of me.”

Alistair held his hand up as if to say _please, let me finish_. “After we left, she told me that you two had a friendship that developed into an, how shall I say, ‘interest’ in each other during her time in the tower, before her harrowing.”

Cullen cleared his throat and squirmed. “I had a youthful infatuation, I admit.” He avoided Alistair’s eye. “I wasn’t sure that she…felt the same way.”

Alistair didn’t feel jealous discussing Solona’s feelings for another man now, but he surely did back when they were talking about Cullen at camp all those years ago. He remembered trying to play it cool, but Solona saw right through him, as only she could. She had teased him mercilessly for days afterward.

“Yes, she did, you naughty, naughty kids,” He wagged his finger at Cullen. “Tsk tsk, the templar and his mage charge, scandalous! I do know that nothing happened, and for that I applaud your restraint, ser. I’m not sure I would have been able to resist her wiles, she told me she tried to flirt with you but you were too shy and proper to realize it. Actually, I _wasn’t_ able to resist her. She swept me right off my feet, that one.”

Cullen laughed then – a real honest to goodness laugh. Alistair was pleased to hear it.

“Anyway, I’m rambling, which I’ve been told I do quite a lot, but what I’m trying to say is – Solona forgave you. She never held anything you said to her or wanted to do in that tower against you. That is what I came here to tell you. I thought it might give you some peace, and I know she would want you to hear it. She only remembered the good man that you were before all of that. She hurt for you when she found out you went through that torture; I mean it REALLY bothered her, to the point where it made me crazy jealous because she was talking about you so much. In fact, she was concerned about your fate and intended to follow up on your whereabouts after…well, you know how that turned out. Solona would have been proud of the man you’ve become, I’m sure of it. Maker, I’m even proud of you, and I barely know you.”

Cullen looked at the floor, unmoving. He didn’t say anything, and Alistair began to get a bit uncomfortable. Was he going to cry? Was he lapsing into another withdrawal spell? Was he having a seizure? After what seemed like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, Cullen finally spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

“You…can’t know what it means to hear that. I had been carrying that weight for so long…thank you.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, to deliver messages from the dead!” Cullen flinched, and Alistair immediately regretted saying it. Why couldn’t he ever be serious for once? He could almost feel Solona punching him on the arm for being so insensitive.

He slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Right, well, time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it? We’re expected in the hall shortly, aren’t we? I should leave you to it – no offense, but you might want to clean up just a teeny bit.”

“Ha, on that you will get no argument from me. I will see you at the main table, then.”

Alistair started to leave, and then turned around. “Take it from someone who knows, you don’t want to waste any precious time without the one you love, even if it means going through something unpleasant. Let her in, let her help you. Don’t shut her out. You just – you just never know what may lie ahead.” There it was again, that old familiar squeeze around his heart.

Cullen nodded sagely, seemingly unable to find any words in response. Alistair was opening the door when Cullen suddenly rushed over.

“Alistair, I want you to know I am truly sorry about Solona. I can’t imagine what that must have been like, to go through something like that. She gave her life so that so many could live, but I know now more than ever that must have been little consolation. She really was an incredible woman, a true hero.”

“Yes, she was, wasn’t she? Thank you, Cullen.” A sparkle came to his eye. “But you know something? Ingrid reminds me a _lot_ of her. She seems quite fantastic, herself. Looks like you and I might have a type, my friend.”

“Ah, what?” Cullen raised a brow, clearly caught off guard.

“See you at dinner! I do hope they seat me next to the Inquisitor, you know we just have so many leaderish type things to discuss…”

Alistair strolled away leaving a slightly befuddled Cullen in his office, his wolfish grin and timeless grief fading a bit with each step he took.

“You’re welcome, my love,” he said softly into the crisp night air.


	2. Two - Cullen

“Are you ready for me, Cullen?”

She was straddling him now in his bunk, the hem of her robe pulled up just high enough to give clearance but not high enough for him to see what he so desperately wanted to. He wasn’t sure where his roommates were, and at the moment he didn’t care.

When she lowered herself onto his clothed groin, her eyes locked with his, and he could feel that she wasn’t wearing any small clothes. He sucked in a sharp breath as his manhood settled neatly into her groove, and languidly she rubbed herself up and down his length, pressing his cock against his abdomen and hardening it with each movement, his breeches the only thing separating them. Cullen felt a searing heat coming from her, and now something else – she was wet, soaking the fabric. Maker, he had no idea a woman could _do_ that.

At first he couldn’t move, he could only stare at her and scarcely believe this was happening. He never dreamed it was even possible. She was so beautiful like this; her dark hair unbound and tossed over one shoulder, her form barely illuminated from the dying embers in the hearth, her hands stroking her chest, her brown eyes gleaming with want. Finally, his breath quickening, he unclenched his hands from the sheets and slipped them underneath her robe. He clutched her bare hips, sinking his fingers into the sides of her buttocks. Her skin was softer than he’d thought possible.

“Are you…ah…are you sure this is what you want?” He asked breathlessly. Her pace was quickening and it was getting difficult to think.

“Yes, Cullen,” she spoke luridly, almost as if she were in a trance, “I’ve always wanted you. I’ve never wanted anyone else but you.” With almost preternatural movement she lifted her robe over her head and tossed it aside, revealing perfectly round breasts with long, hard nipples. He looked down at her sex and could see how wet she was, her dark hair was glistening with her essence. Cullen could feel his eyes widen at the sight of her.

She noticed his gaze. “See? See how wet I am? I was thinking about you in my room, all alone in my bed, pleasuring myself, and I just had to have you.” The idea of her touching herself while thinking of him much was almost too much to bear. She lifted herself up and he whimpered at the sudden lack of pressure.

He held his breath as she took two fingers, swiftly pushed them inside herself, and then pressed them to his lips. “Can you taste me, Cullen? Is it anything like you imagined?”

He grabbed her hand more forcefully than he intended and sucked on her long, delicate fingers. It was exquisite, she was sweet and hot and he wanted more. This is not how he imagined being with her even in his wildest fantasies, but she was driving him mad with lust.

“I want you inside me, Cullen. I need you inside me.” She playfully fondled her breast, pinching the nipple.

Cullen let go of her hand and frantically pushed his breeches down, finally freeing his cock. He let his fingers brush over her sex, bringing them briefly to his mouth to taste her again. She smiled and stared at him with black eyes

_eyes aren’t black\ smile’s all wrong_

as he grabbed his cock and lifted it underneath her, rubbing her slit with the tip and causing her to moan. He readied himself and pressed down on her hip, but she hesitated.

“Cullen…tell me you want me.”

He didn’t hear her at first, the blood was rushing in his ears from his arousal and desire to be inside her. She leaned forward, bracing herself on his shoulders. He cupped her breasts in awe and thumbed her nipples; they were so, so firm.

“Tell me you WANT me.”

He looked up at her, his jaw clenched, his breath quivering and harsh. “Of course I want you. I want you more than anything. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.” He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her almost violently, all those years of longing for her expressed in that one action. His tongue pushed and folded around hers

_rough tongue tastes of metal_

until she pulled away and looked down at him, a strange grin on her face. She grabbed his manhood, positioned herself over him, flicked the tip against her entrance and said “Good.” Finally she slid down onto him, easily and with no resistance.

He’d been with one other woman – girl, really – before this, a hidden tryst in the woods behind the chantry, but that was just the curiosity and lust of the young. There was frantic exposure of the necessary parts, some kissing and groping, it was all over fairly quickly.

But this…the chantry girl didn’t feel like this. They both cried out as she sank down to his hilt. His flesh was drowning in her wet heat, he could feel her tighten as she expertly pumped and rocked on top of him. He was inexperienced and tried to fuck her as best as he could, holding onto her hips and thrusting upward. His entire body sang, waves of pleasure building, pulse throbbing, their movements becoming frenzied.

“Cullen, you feel so good, oh, you’re so GOOD, I’m going to come!” They moved faster and faster, building and building, he was pounding into her now and grunting from the effort. She threw her head back and dug her nails into his thighs

_feels like claws_

He stared at her glistening breasts as they bounced faster and harder.

_lavender skin with chains_

“CULLEN!!!” She’s screaming, but the voice is different. He feels her gushing all around him as she comes, her walls rippling.

There’s a sharp pain in his abdomen. He looks down and sees long scratch marks oozing with blood.

He sees that her eyes are completely black.

He sees horns where her hair was.

He sees a Desire Demon, riding him, and he’s already coming inside her.

He screams.

***

Cullen’s eyes shot open, the world coming into focus around him. He was covered in sweat, every muscle ached…daylight, and he wasn't in his barracks at the circle. He was not alone.

Frantically he sat up and looked around him to find a woman in the room – the demon? No, of course not…the Inquisitor. Ingrid. She was standing next to the bed, watching him, her hands on her hips. Reality settled in and he realized he was having another nightmare. He rubbed his eyes and tried to shake the memory of it.

“Having another bad dream?” Ingrid asked. The way she said it sounded sarcastic, almost hostile. Cullen, still foggy from sleep, couldn’t imagine why. He struggled to remember the night before; had he done or said something to upset her? As far as he recalled, dinner with Alistair was a nice yet uneventful respite from the usual Inquisition business.

“Yes, unfortunately,” he ran both hands through his damp hair; every inch of him was drenched. He’d have to change the bed sheets, again. His throat felt raw. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you for a cup of water?”

“Ha! A cup of water, he says. Get it your damned self.” Ingrid marched toward the ladder.

“Wait!” Cullen sprang from the bed, ignoring the massive headache that was already building. “Will you at least tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?! I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” She squared off against him, her eyes blazing, the muscles in her jaw working. Cullen had never seen her this angry before, at least not at him. “Last night you tell me you are too unwell to make love, even though I just arrived back at Skyhold. Fine, I’m not some sort of animal, I can handle that. I felt badly for you, so I woke up early to bring you breakfast in bed, and what do I come back to?” She paused, the words seemingly hard to say. “I find you writhing in bed and moaning, calling out another woman’s name in your sleep!” Angry tears filled her eyes. “Solona? As in Solona Amell? The Hero of Ferelden?!”

Oh, no. He felt terrible, and also cursed his tendency to talk in his sleep. Cullen looked over at his trunk, on top of it sat a tray full of his favorite pastries and a pot of herbal tea; judging from the scent it was the type that helped him with his headaches. There was no denying the nature of the dream, but she didn’t know the entire story, and she couldn’t know that it was his worst of the nightmares. Damn, why hadn’t he been forthcoming with her from the start?

“Ingrid,” he reached out to her, “Please, allow me to explain-“

“DON’T touch me!” She jerked away from him. “At any rate, we don’t have time for this now. We’re expected in the war room shortly.”

“But if you would just let me-“

“I’ll see you in the briefing, Commander. Please don’t be late and embarrass me in front of Alistair.” Her voice was cold as she wiped the tears from her face. Before he could get another word out, she had already slid down the ladder to his office. “Enjoy your breakfast,” she spat at him from below, and then she slammed the door shut.

“Damn!” Cullen said out loud, punching the air. He should have known something like this could happen. He hadn’t had this particular nightmare in months; clearly Alistair’s visit had triggered it. Unfortunately she was right; there was no time to discuss it now, he would have to try and make it up to her later. Right now he needed to clean up and pull himself together.

***

Later, in the war room, the first order of business on Josephine’s agenda was to discuss their alliance with the rebel mages.

“Yes, about that,” Alistair began, “I should probably apologize for how I acted in Redcliffe. I was so angry I didn't even notice your presence, my people filled me in on your offer after I demanded she leave. Probably not the best first impression, but Fiona just made me so _furious_. What was she thinking, making a deal with the Venatori like that? And driving my uncle out of town and people from their homes?”

Ingrid nodded. “If I may be frank, she behaved like a complete idiot. Still, I understand she was frightened for her people. I thought it would be better to have their full cooperation as free allies rather than slaves of the Inquisition, given everything they have been through.” When she said the word “slaves” she darted a look at Cullen.

He grimaced; that was a low blow, since he had been against the alliance in the beginning. “I think slaves might be too harsh a term.”

“Oh really?” Ingrid rounded on him. “Fighting for us against their free will, hmm, sounds an awful lot like slavery to me.”

Cullen sighed. “Conscription is not the same as –“

“The point is they are out of Redcliffe, with you, a formidable asset in the fight against Corypheus.” Alistair interrupted. “Cullen, how are they integrating with your forces? Hopefully they aren’t giving you trouble?”

“It was a bit of a rocky start, but they are settling in nicely. I’ve noticed a marked improvement in morale and camaraderie since we’ve arrived at Skyhold.”

“How have you handled their training?”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona coordinates that with her senior mages and I check in with her regularly on their progress. It would appear that fighting in the rebellion has kept most of them battle ready.”

“Excellent. Leliana, anything to add?”

“I’ve been working with Fiona to identify the mages who would most be suited to work for me, and so far we have four in training. It doesn’t sound like much, but a good agent who is also a mage can be invaluable.”

“And Josie? I’m sorry, is it alright if I call you Josie?” Alistair sounded flustered. How odd, he normally seems so unflappable, Cullen thought. “I heard everyone calling you that at dinner last night and, I uh, thought it was nice.”

Josephine’s bronze skin flushed burgundy across her cheeks. “Why of course, Your Highness.”

“Please, do call me Alistair.” Cullen had seen this man flirting with just about every woman last night, including Ingrid, but there was something different in the way he smiled at Josie just now. It was almost bashful.

“Yes of course. Well,” she cleared her throat and regained her composure, “I have successfully secured a lyrium supply to be delivered regularly to Skyhold for the mages, and we have found all of them adequate quarters. Some of them are three or four to a room, but it’s the best we can do at the moment. Food and other necessities are plentiful.”

“Right. Well, seems as if Fiona and her mages are sorted, thank you for getting them out of my hair. What’s next on the agenda?”

The meeting carried on as they reviewed Inquisition dealings in Ferelden, showing Alistair where rifts had been closed and refugees had been saved, briefing him on completed missions or seeking his input on tasks yet to be attempted. They informed him of their success of keeping Empress Celene on the throne in Orlais while secretly having Gaspard and Briala working with her, information that Alistair was pleased to hear. Even though the Inquisition operated outside of his jurisdiction, they still wanted to extend the courtesy of involving him in their work. Besides, having both rulers of Orlais and Ferelden as allies could only work to their advantage.

Ingrid wouldn’t look at Cullen, even though he knew she could feel him watching her. It was strange; normally they were always stealing glances in the war room, sometimes having to ask Leliana or Josie to repeat themselves, much to the spymaster and the diplomant's annoyance. He just wanted her to see that he was sorry, if he could convey somehow with a look that he would explain everything once they had a moment alone, he had to try. Cullen gave up after some time and focused on just being the Commander, plowing through even though his headache wasn’t letting up. He knew Ingrid could be stubborn and now he had the pleasure of bearing the brunt of it for the first time.

When their briefing finally ended, Cullen tried to catch her but she had already rushed from the room without bothering to look back. He let out an exasperated sigh and planted his hands on the war table, letting his head hang down.

Suddenly there was a noise coming from the corner of the room. Cullen looked up to find Alistair still there, hanging back by the food tray.

“Lovers' spat?” he asked, grabbing a hunk of cheese and popping it into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“C’mon, I thought we were pals, you can tell me! You could cut the tension between you two with a knife. What happened? Last night at dinner you were all sweet and adorable and annoying.”

There was no chance of Cullen telling Alistair what happened this morning, so he simply shrugged. “It must have been something I said.”

“Oh, that’s the worst. When you know you messed up good, but you don’t know what you did? It’s hard to imagine you doing that, though. Me? Yes, I live with my foot in my mouth, but you? You’re careful with your words.”

Out of nowhere, a shooting pain flashed through his brain, causing Cullen to wince.

“Are you alright? Are you still having…trouble? You seemed fine at dinner.” Alistair stepped closer to get a better look. “Maker, you’re going white as a sheet right now.”

“I’ll be fine,” Cullen said, stepping toward the door. Even as he uttered the words, he knew something was very wrong. Perhaps he just needed to get to his office, to lie down. His vision began to blur and the pain intensified sharply, darting down from his head to his spine.

The room started spinning around him as he felt himself losing his balance and control of his legs. He heard Alistair say his name but it sounded distant, as if he were underwater. Cullen recognized the ceiling as he heard a cracking thump and stars exploded across his eyes, and then his world turned to black.


	3. Three - Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair helps Cullen recover and come to an important decision, and he begins to have a breakthrough of his own.
> 
> Thanks to LadyInquinnsitor for the beta!

Alistair saw Cullen sway and keel backward, as if he were a tree falling, but even as he rushed around the war table shouting his name he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to catch him. The sound his head made when it connected with the sharp edge of the war table was unsettling, the impact causing his body to jackknife sideways onto the floor.

“No, no, no, shit!” Alistair dropped down to find him already unconscious and ghostly pale. He examined the back of his head as carefully as possible; nothing seemed to be broken, the skin was intact, but he could feel a knot already forming. Maker only knew if there was any internal bleeding. Cullen’s eyelids twitched in response to Alistair’s probing fingers, then his face went lax again.

Alistair rose quickly, running his hands through his hair and looking around the room, as if a solution to his problem would suddenly materialize. He needed to get help; Cullen needed Ingrid.

“Er, stay put, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He wasn’t sure why he was talking to a man who was out cold. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he went through the door to find his guards standing at attention, ready to escort him.

“No, I need you two to stay here, don’t let anyone in. I’ll return right away with the Inquisitor.”

The guard on his right protested _(Is that Donnan or Thomas? Ah, I can never remember_ _,_ Alistair thought _)_ , “But Your Majesty, at least one of us must go with you, we cannot-“

He hated doing it, but it was time to use his “kingly” voice. “As your _King_ , I order you to remain here until I return. I will only be a moment. There are no assassins lurking in the main hall, and even if there were, I can handle myself.”

He marched ahead down the hall before they could protest. Thankfully Josie wasn’t at her usual post; for now it might be best to keep this as quiet as possible.

The situation was dire enough to eschew propriety, so he walked right into Ingrid’s quarters.

“Inquisitor? Ingrid?” He called up the stairs. “It’s me, Alistair. I’m sorry to barge in like this but-“

Ingrid appeared at the top of the stairs and peered down at him suspiciously. “Alistair? What are you doing here? Where are your guards?”

His words spilled out. “It’s not what you think, I assure you. As nice as that sounds, for me anyway.” _Get to the point, you dolt_. “Sorry – bad attempt at a joke - I need you to come with me right away, to the war room. It’s Cullen, he needs help.”

She crossed her arms. “Did he put you up to this? If he wants to see me, he can come here himself instead of sending his lackey to fetch me.”

For a moment Alistair was confused, then he remembered the two had been quarreling. “No, it’s nothing like that – he’s hurt. Please, come quickly!”

“Hurt?” Ingrid’s face fell, her arms falling to the side as she hurried down the stairs. “How? What happened?”

“I’m not sure. One minute he seemed fine – well, he was a bit grumpy, but that’s normal for him, right? Then he went white as a ghost and collapsed. He hit his head, he’s unconscious.”

“Collapsed?” she asked in a small voice as they walked. “I don’t understand. Although he did say he felt ill last night. And this morning…” Ingrid trailed off, her face filled with worry and confusion.

“Why, what happened this morning?”

She shook her head and said nothing as they entered the war room.

Cullen was still on his side on the floor, his legs and arms laid out before him. Ingrid was at his side in an instant, her hands cradling his face .

“Cullen!” Her hands were trembling but her voice was firm, her eyes searching his features. “Cullen, can you hear me? C’mon, wake up.” She slammed her fist onto the floor, causing Alistair to jump in surprise. “Damn you, what are you hiding from me?!”

Alistair suddenly felt as if he was intruding on a private moment, and he wondered if he should leave. Before he could decide what to do, he sensed a strange yet not entirely unfamiliar energy in the air.  He watched as she clenched her fists and took a few deep breaths, appearing to regain her composure.

Ingrid closed her eyes and laid her now steady hands on Cullen, one over the back of his head and the other on his forehead. Alistair recognized the pleasant sensation of a weak healing spell humming from her direction as a white light briefly flashed from her palms. He noticed how it eclipsed the green mark on her left hand.

An old memory sprang forth, an image so vivid he could almost smell the scent of blood and lyrium in the air. Alistair on the ground yelping in pain from a nasty stab wound, Solona trying to calm him down with a soothing voice, then losing her patience and barking at him to quit his damn whining so she could apply the damn healing spell already. He remembered watching her work, her brow furrowed in concentration and annoyance with his squirming, and how comforting her hands felt as they channeled their magic.

The spell subsided and Alistair was brought back to the present, realizing he had been grinning in his reverie. He quickly rectified that.

Ingrid opened her eyes just as Cullen slowly opened his.

“Ingrid? What…unf,” he groaned as he sat up, his hand reflexively jerking to the back of his head. He looked between the two of them and all around the room as he tried to orient himself. “Why am I on the floor? What happened? Were we attacked?”

“Alistair came to fetch me. You fainted, hit your head.” She was cool, calm, detached. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why; a perfectly healthy man such as you who doesn’t suffer from anything except the occasional headache.”

Probably still dazed, Cullen didn’t seem to notice her obvious sarcasm. Or perhaps he chose to ignore it. “You…you healed me.”

“Of course I did,” she snapped. “I couldn’t just let our commander lie there unconscious.”

“I, er, thank you.” He looked at Alistair. “I’m sorry to be any trouble.”

Alistair shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

An awkward silence fell over the room. “Soooo, I should probably get back to my-"

“Well, it looks like my job here is done.” Ingrid cut Alistair off, rising from the floor. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the library with Dorian going over some research.”  She looked at Cullen, her voice tremulous. “I wish you a speedy recovery.” She turned heel and practically ran from the room.

“Ingrid!” Cullen stood up too quickly and almost lost his balance – this time Alistair was there to catch him.

“Whoa there, careful. You’re in no condition to be chasing after her, not yet.”

Cullen exhaled sharply. His stare could have burned a whole through the door where Ingrid had been not moments before. “Maker, I’ve been an utter fool.”

Alistair considered saying ‘I told you so’, but thought better of it. “Come on, let’s get you back to your office. Can you walk?”

Cullen nodded, gingerly touching his head. “Her…the magic is doing its work. Ah,” he hissed, “It itches.”

“Healing spells will do that. Drives you batty because you can’t scratch it, but it should subside soon.”

“Really? Solona had to patch you up a lot, I take it?”

“Oh, not just Solona – Wynne, and sometimes Morrigan, but her healing spells were shite.”

Alistair noticed the amused look on Cullen’s face. Clearly, the healing spell had worked quite well. “Oh, I get it, very funny. I’ll have you know that I was still a bit green with my fighting skills then. It was the beginning of the blight! I got better.”

“If you say so.”

“By the way, stay close to me in case you get the vapors again.”

They walked through the main hall, royal guards in tow, people bowing and murmuring greetings as they passed.

“Speaking of Morrigan,” Cullen said, “You must be looking forward to her arrival from Halamshiral. I imagine you two have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Ha ha. Are you sure you didn’t jostle your funny bone loose when you fell?”

Judging from the look on Cullen’s face, he wasn’t joking.

“What, Leliana didn’t tell you?”

“She doesn’t share many personal details of her travels during the blight, I’m afraid. To be honest, I’ve never pressed her.”

“Strange. The Leliana I knew couldn’t wait to tell her tales, we could barely get her to stop. They were usually delightful stories, mind you, it’s just that sometimes, you need a _little_ peace and quiet. Anyway, Morrigan and I didn’t exactly get along, she was _very_ mean to me. In fact, you could say we despised each other. But,” Alistair sighed, “we tolerated one another for Solona’s sake, and for the cause, of course.”

“I see.”

“She was a formidable mage, though, I’ll give her that, healing shortcomings aside. I do have to admit, I _am_ curious to see what she’s like now.” He laughed. “I can’t imagine her rubbing elbows with royals in the Winter Palace, at the Empress’ side, no less. When I met Morrigan, her preferred way to interact with other humans was in the shape of an animal.”

“Speaking of animals, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he pinched a piece of fur on Cullen’s cloak. “What is this made out of, anyway? Is it some kind of Fereldan symbolism?” His nose wrinkled. “It’s not _mabari_ fur, is it?”

Cullen looked mortified, in his own reserved, dignified sort of way. “No, it’s not _mabari_ fur. You think me some kind of monster?”

“Well, what is it then? It can’t be lion fur, a Fereldan wouldn’t be caught dead in a symbol of Orlais.”

“It’s not important what it is. It seemed practical, the fur keeps out the cold. And...I quite liked the colors.” He pulled the cloak around his neck just a bit tighter, looking and sounding a bit defensive.

Alistair grinned. “You have no idea what kind of fur that is, do you?”

“Of course I know what - can we please just get back to my office?”

“Fine, consider it dropped.” He leaned in closer. “Your secret fur is safe with me.”

Cullen smirked at that. “I think you missed your calling, Your Majesty. You would have made an excellent court jester.”

“Actually, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

When they arrived at his office, Cullen collapsed into his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well,” Alistair said, “it’s been quite the day, hasn’t it? I should go, I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting, and I’m sure you have things to do.”

“Please, wait,” Cullen sat forward in his chair. “You have my sincere thanks. But there is something I’d like to discuss, if I may.” His expression was one of steely resolve. “It’s rather urgent.”

“Alright, I’m listening.”

“As King of Ferelden, you’re also a military man, a leader of an army. I think we both know that this incident proves something I’ve suspected for some time; that I cannot remain in my post as Commander.”

Alistair was rendered speechless, so Cullen continued. “Even though the Inquisition technically operates outside of your jurisdiction, I respectfully request your endorsement.”

Alistair stifled a laugh; he couldn’t possibly be serious. Could he?

“Did I hear that right? You want to step _down_? After everything I heard this morning about your progress, you want to quit? At a time like this?’

“ _Especially_ at a time like this!” Cullen’s fist came down on his thigh, his burst of anger catching Alistair completely by surprise.

“Don’t you see? The Inquisition needs a commander that can lead these soldiers without the possibility of _swooning_ suddenly like, like some _Orlesian_ at a party!”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of that trend. What will they come up with next?”

Cullen grit his teeth in frustration. “When you came to see me last night, I ask you; did you see a man fit to command an army in the middle of a war? This addiction, this withdrawal, it’s entirely too unpredictable, I won't have it jeopardize our success!”

He stood up and began to pace, an air of desperation eclipsing his anger. “Maybe, maybe if I leave now, that will give Cassandra enough time to find a replacement, before we face Corypheus. The longer I wait, the worse it will be for the Inquisition.”

“Alright, just stop for a moment and think about what you’re saying. You cannot honestly believe that resigning is the right choice. You’d be leaving just when they need you the most, when _we_ need you the most.”

Cullen rounded on him. “You of all people should understand. You saw me in there, lying on the floor, helpless, felled by a damned _table_. What if that was to happen during battle, hm? What if Skyhold is attacked?” His eyes were on fire, desperate, pleading for understanding. “I won’t allow this, this _illness_ to compromise my ability to serve. I WILL NOT allow another Haven to occur.”

“And yet if you had been honest about the severity of your ‘illness’ with _all parties involved_ , maybe all of this could have been avoided!” Alistair thought he might have gone too far, but Cullen’s silence said he knew it to be true.

“I may be King,” he continued, “but I’ll be damned if I would allow my finest commander to step down in the middle of a war that we were _winning_ simply because he was suffering from something treatable, something temporary, something he was too stubborn, too _noble_ to get the proper help for.”

“We don’t know that it’s temporary. You are aware what happens to some templars; many go mad, lose their memories, some even die!”

“Have you shown up to training without your pants on yet? Or woken up and thought you were a chicken?”

“Of course not.”

“So you’re of sound mind, then. And the dying thing? That could happen anytime in battle, with or without your problem.”

“Listen,” Alistair kept going when Cullen opened his mouth to protest, “I’ve got a personal stake in this. Corypheus threatens all of Thedas. You cannot step down when you’ve come this far, when you’re so close to beating him. Maybe when this is all over, fine - quit, take a vacation. After the life you’ve led, nobody would blame you. But don’t walk away from this now when so many rely on you. Ingrid relies on you. If nothing else, think of her, and what it would do to her if you left. She needs to be strong, to be supported, now more than ever, her mark is the key.”

Cullen was silent, contemplating, so Alistair continued. “Listen to me, I know this from personal experience, you have to remain together as a team or all is lost. This lyrium thing can be dealt with.” He paused. “And you know Solona would tell you the same thing, if she saw you like this.”

Cullen glanced at him sideways. “That was low.”

“Yes. But it’s the truth, and I think you know it.”

Alistair watched him pacing the room; he could practically feel the self-doubt, the heartache, the pain radiating from him. Cullen had obviously been expecting support in his decision, and was frustrated and a bit lost to find that Alistair wouldn’t be the one to give it.

Cullen stopped pacing behind his desk.

“Perhaps there is a way to ensure that I can still serve without further incident.” He yanked opened a drawer and pulled out the lyrium philter kit, tossing it unceremoniously onto the desk.

“No.” Alistair shook his head. “Absolutely not. You’ve come too far.”

“And why _shouldn’t_ I take it?” Cullen sneered. “I am man enough to admit when I’ve failed. Perhaps it’s time I accept the truth; that this will never work. I gave the Chantry all that I had, and I took lyrium then. Why should I give the Inquisition any less?”

“Maker take the damn Inquisition, Cullen. What do _you_ want?”

The question hung in the air, and that was really it, wasn’t it? He was essentially a free man, yet he was still behaving as if he was under the Chantry’s thumb, still making decisions based on what he thought was righteous and not what was truly in his heart. Even though Cullen was removed from that life, it was taking time to retrain his mind to deal with the world and his new place in it.

“Well? Do you _want_ to keep taking lyrium? It’s a simple enough question.”

“I…,” he exhaled slowly, as if he’d been holding his breath for years, “no.”

“Good, then it’s settled.” Alistair picked up the box and opened it, plucked the philter from its slot and casually tossed it out of the nearest window.

“What – are you mad? That could have been given to the mages or templars!”

“Oh relax, you have plenty more. It was a _symbolic gesture_ , work with me here.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, frozen, then Cullen began to giggle, building to full blown laughter. Alistair joined in as the absurdity of everything that had happened since his arrival came sharply into focus. Bonding over a woman they both once loved, the fainting spell, the fact that he was giving life and career advice to a man he for all intents and purposes had just met, and now he was casually tossing his lyrium out of a window to make a point.

They continued to laugh until they had tears in their eyes and their sides were aching, both leaning on the desk for support. Once they had composed themselves, Cullen was the first to speak.

“Forgive me, Alistair. Maker, what you must think of me. I assure you, I’m not normally this exciting. Just ask anyone around here.”

“It _has_ been quite exciting! Now, let’s never do it again.”

“Yes, well, I am sure Josie has a thousand things planned for you, and I must return to my duties.” The Commander persona had returned.

“So, does that mean…”

Cullen was putting the lyrium kit back in the drawer and organizing papers, the tiniest hint of a smile dancing on his lips. “I appreciate your input and I will take what you’ve said into consideration.”

Alistair took his meaning. Probably just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling him that he was right.

Before Alistair closed the door on his way out, he looked over his shoulder. “For the love of Andraste, just _talk_ to her, will you?”

Cullen glanced up, looking a little sheepish, and gave him a curt nod before going back to scouring his reports.

It was an odd thing to consider after what they had just been through, but it appeared that Cullen still intended to keep his love life private. Alistair could respect that.

***

Back in his quarters, Alistair was looking over the neatly bound schedule that Josie had prepared for him (more banquets, lunches, meetings, sitting in on training sessions with Cullen, the list went on) when one of his guards popped his head in.

“Your Highness, Lady Montilyet is here to see you.”

He was caught off guard at the little flutter he felt in his chest. He stood up and quickly smoothed his hair. “Let her in.”

She entered, looking a bit flushed. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty-“

“Please, call me Alistair.”

“Of course, force of habit - Alistair. We were expecting you at tea, and when you didn’t arrive, I thought I might check in on you personally.”

Tea? He grabbed the itinerary and scanned it – there it was; afternoon tea with Josie and a name he didn’t recognize. He’d just missed it.

“The Comte du Vioginier” she said, as if reading his mind, “he holds considerable amounts of farm land near the Ferelden border, he desires to expand his claim. I thought it prudent you should meet since you could gain from it as well. It’s all in the attached supplement, here.” She lifted up the paper to reveal the attached pages, filled with line after line of neatly written notes that he hadn’t read.

“I’m very sorry, something, er, came up, it was urgent.”

“Oh my, is everything alright?” She was close now; she didn’t smell like Fereldan women with their sweet floral scents. Hers was musky, heady but still delicate. He noticed her hazel eyes rimmed with kohl, the way her full lips pressed together in a slight pout, the tendril of hair he was tempted to push away from her face.

Alistair realized he was staring and diverted his eyes, clearing his throat. “Oh yes, everything is fine now, really. Please give the Comte my apologies and hopefully we can reschedule.” Truthfully he didn’t care to meet with him at all but he didn’t want to appear rude, not when she clearly worked so hard on all of this.

He noticed the lovely color that blushed across her cheekbones. “Of course, I will make the arrangements and send the revised schedule over right away.” She hastily excused herself and began to back out of the room, but not before almost tripping over a chair on her way out. Alistair stifled a laugh as she apologized profusely and closed the door.

 _She’s nervous, and it’s adorable_ , he thought, and it made him feel a bit giddy.

His mind reeled, what was happening here? Sure, Josie was beautiful, but he had met many such women over the years. His short-lived relationships were arranged and he had followed through out of obligation; he had felt no such spark.

There was something quite bewitching about her. The way she made you feel instantly at ease, the vast wealth of knowledge she’d displayed at the war table, and the fact that she appeared so sweetly innocent yet she could find a way to ruin someone’s life by simply signing a piece of paper; it was all so incredibly intriguing.

He had caught himself staring at her several times during their briefing, pretending to be preoccupied with a marker on the table if she turned his way.

She was nothing like _her,_ of course. Solona would have despised the game and would have refused to play out of sheer principle. Besides, she wouldn’t have had the patience to navigate all the various machinations. Amell liked to face things head-on, thwack it with some magic, done and done. There were no pretenses with her, what you saw was what you got, and he had loved that about her.

And yet there was something so refreshing about Josie, the way she gave off subtle hints of her many layers underneath the polished facade.

For one, she had a sly sense of humor, as he discovered at dinner when she had leaned across the table to reveal the real reason the noble across the room was walking funny.

“A fall down the stairs? Do not believe a word of it. Let us just say that our dear Count Mamet has been getting to know The Iron Bull,” she’d said with a wicked grin, the table exploding into laughter.

That little peek into her personality was enough to draw him in, and he hadn’t had a chance to reflect on it until now.

Alistair sighed and fell backward onto the bed. The deep ache that he carried with him bloomed in his chest; it was almost comforting by now, so familiar. It washed over him completely, overwhelming, guilt and despair whispering on the edge of his consciousness, growing louder.

It was crystal clear now, a disembodied voice defying any description boring into his mind, inescapable and terrible, just as it had been when the horror was still fresh.

_You don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve happiness. She gave her life for yours, and you let it happen. You allowed her go on without you. If you had been with her, she would still be alive. The people didn’t need a bastard heir, they needed her. You deserve to die alone. You deserve to suffer._

_It should have been you. You failed her._

Alistair’s eyes snapped open, his body jerking him awake. The shadows cast from the sunlight remained unchanged; he’d only been asleep for a few minutes.

He groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow. He shuffled over to the washbasin and splashed water onto his face, feeling the weariness from years of pain down to his very bones, feeling very _old_.

All this time he had been torturing himself, a trait he realized he shared with Cullen. Solona was dead, nothing could bring her back, and would she have wanted this for him? Of course not. It was this knowledge that had kept him going just after her death in his darkest moments, when he had entertained terrible thoughts alone at night in his very large and empty bed, still lost in his new role as King.

It was never a question he had asked himself during his courtships, since he knew he did not love those women.

As the nightmare faded from his mind and the ache lessened, he felt a new determination. Maker preserve him, he wanted to know Josie, and the thought both excited and terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Dark Ritual doesn't exist in this universe.
> 
> This was incredibly hard to write, much more so than the other chapters (I rewrote it several times), but I think I've got a good direction going. What do you think? Thoughts, criticisms, ideas? What did you like or didn't you like? 
> 
> Comments help me keep going!


	4. Four - Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finally comes clean with the Inquisitor. A squishy, angsty chapter before the shit hits the fan. Special thanks to dgcakes for the beta! Smut ahead.

Cullen stared at the signature on the report until his eyes went out of focus, realizing he hadn’t actually absorbed a word of it. He’d needed to read the previous one three times before moving onto this one. With a rasping sigh, he flicked the parchment onto the desk and leaned back in his chair, rapping his fingers on the mahogany and biting his lip.

It wasn’t the head injury. He could feel that it was almost fully healed at this point, the itch just a memory. It was the knowledge that he had upset Ingrid, and he needed to make things right.

Except that something was holding him back. He tried to tell himself it was his duties; he’d lost enough time today as it was and he didn’t want anything to slip through the cracks or be delayed any further. In reality, this was a fabrication formed from a tiny kernel of truth.

Yes, he had duties to attend to, but they could wait. In anticipation of Alistair’s arrival, he’d instructed his corporal to personally inform him of anything that needed his input without delay, and anything that wasn’t time sensitive was to be left on his desk in a report.

He suspected that if he’d had a personal life before Ingrid, he would have always been the type to dive into work when things became too unpleasant. It probably wasn’t the best approach.

Cullen’s mind raced, each thought that came to mind battled the one before it. He should go now, beg for her forgiveness, attempt to explain himself. But what if she didn’t want to see him? What if she needed more time and he made things worse by pressuring her?

Ingrid had a temper, he had seen it directed toward others (his chest tightened when he was reminded that he was now the subject of her ire) and she would usually need time away from the offending party to cool off. However, this was different, was it not? He was her lover, not her companion or employee, and this wasn’t something that just needed to blow over. Did that mean she needed more time, or less? Had he already ruined everything by not going after her in the war room? Or worse, by not postponing the meeting so they could discuss what happened this morning?

He groaned out loud, the realization of how utterly inexperienced he was at relationships of any sort nagging at him. Fear was immobilizing him now, and it disgusted him to think it. Cullen could make strategic decisions involving a thousand men in seconds and lead an army into battle without batting an eye, and here he was, rooted to the spot, and Maker, he was _afraid._

He feared not Ingrid’s wrath – no, if that were his only obstacle he’d gladly take his proverbial lumps so they could resolve their differences and move on. What he feared was the discovery of what he might have ruined.

The thought of losing Ingrid after finding her through the chaos that was his life petrified him beyond his wildest imagination.

That was enough to put him into action. He pushed the chair back much too forcefully, causing it to topple over. Cullen ignored it and strode toward the Inquisitor’s quarters.

He was surprised to find there was no answer at her door.

Cullen turned the handle and cursed under his breath when it gave him no resistance. It was a recurring petty argument they had, she was always forgetting to lock it, but he wouldn’t be mentioning it this time when he found her. She would always say it was pointless - that if someone really wanted to pick a lock, they could, and her rogue companions did just that all of the time. Her chambers were empty, save for the mess of books and papers scattered throughout.

Herald’s Rest, that’s where she’d likely be. Probably drinking ale with Varric; perhaps giving him story ideas – the Herald of Andraste and the unworthy Commander who broke her heart.

In his rush through the main hall, he collided with someone who was just rising from their chair at the main table.

“Maker, pardon me, Varric” he exclaimed, grasping the dwarf’s shoulder to help keep him from toppling over. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Don’t mention it; I probably shouldn’t be stepping out into traffic like that. In a hurry, are we Curly?”

“I was looking for the Inquisitor. She’s not in her quarters and I thought she might be with you, I was on my way to Herald’s Rest.”

“I actually just came from there. I haven’t seen her all day. We assumed she was with you and the King.”  Varric sized him up; Cullen disliked when he did that. “Is everything all right? You have a...” he gestured toward Cullen, searching for the right word, “frantic look about you. Not your usual Commander cool.”

“Truthfully, Varric, I am not sure. I’ll know more once I find her.” Cullen saw no reason to lie to the dwarf. Between Varric, Iron Bull and Cole, one could scarcely hide their true feelings at Skyhold for very long. Annoying, but useful against their enemies.

“Ah, I get it, trouble in paradise. Well, best of luck to you.”

Cullen simply nodded, and moved onward.

“And Cullen,” Varric called after him, uncharacteristically addressing him by name, “Try not to worry too much. All the greatest love stories have a little bit of heartache in them.” Looking pleased with himself for delivering that pearl of wisdom, the dwarf sauntered off.

Perhaps Ingrid was still with Dorian? Cullen entered the rotunda and found Solas in his usual spot, taking a sip of tea and making a disgusted noise.

“Still haven’t found one to your liking, I see,” Cullen said, causing the elf to turn around stiffly in his chair.

“An astute observation, Commander. I cannot fathom why people keep insisting that I try this tea or that tea. I simply detest the stuff, is that not sufficient? Is there some Inquisition requirement to like tea that I was not aware of?”

“To be honest, I’m more of a coffee man, myself. Not very Fereldan of me, I suppose. I’m sorry to disturb you, but you haven’t seen the Inquisitor, have you?”

“Yes, she was with Dorian upstairs, making an unseemly racket while I was attempting to walk the Fade.” Solas frowned, clearly still irritated. “However, she left some time ago.”

“We were doing important research, which is more than I can say for you, my dear apostate - unless the key to defeating Corypheus lies in your sweet dreams,” Dorian cooed, leaning over the railing above. “And hello, Commander, you’re looking smashing today. If you’re looking for Ingrid, I’m afraid you’ve missed her. Couldn’t say where she ran off to, although I’d hoped it would be your office.”

Cullen wasn’t surprised; of course she had confided in Dorian, her closest friend. “Thank you both.” He turned to leave, all the more perplexed at where she might be. He was running out of her usual haunts.

He wondered if he should take this as a sign, that maybe she just needed more time to herself. It was possible that he’d do more harm than good by seeking her out right now.

Or, perhaps she was avoiding him because she didn’t want to see him at all, not now or ever again. The uncertainty was likely to drive him mad. These were entirely alien feelings for him, and he had to remind himself to remain calm.

He decided to head to the chapel; it was always a source of comfort, and he hadn’t been going as often as he used to. It would help clear his head, center himself, prepare for what may come. Maybe he could request forgiveness for causing the Herald of Andraste pain, something he swore to himself and the Maker that he would never do.

Cullen opened the door and found all of the candles lit. In the dim flickering light, he could make out a figure kneeling in front of the statue of Andraste.

The figure turned toward him at the sound of his footsteps.  He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

“Ingrid?”

She said nothing as she rose from her kneeling position, avoiding his gaze. She grasped at her elbows, looking oddly self-conscious.

“Maker, I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t expect-”

“To find me here?” She turned toward the statue, eyes downcast. He wanted her to just _look_ at him, he needed to _see_.

“I thought that maybe - oh balls, I don’t know what I thought.”  She glanced up at the stone deity. “Sorry.”

Cullen stepped closer. “Were you - were you praying?”

“Hm, silly, right? Me, the heathen mage, praying to bloody Andraste.”

They hadn’t spoken in-depth about their religious beliefs, or lack thereof. She knew that he was a devout Andrastian; he knew that she had her doubts. Neither tried to hide this from one another but they seemed to never have felt the need to discuss it.

In the early days of the Inquisition, when they were still getting to know one another and everything was a mess, she’d confided in him that she didn’t believe she was sent by the Maker or Andraste and was uncomfortable with everyone calling her the Herald.

“Cullen, I’m afraid,” she had admitted in a rare moment of vulnerability, playing with a strand of hair on the nape of her neck.

“Afraid of what?” his hand had reached out; the impulse to touch her was strong. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Afraid of what Cassandra and Leliana might think of me, if they knew that I don’t really believe. I don’t know why I feel comfortable telling you this, you’re just as devout as the Seeker and Spymaster, but...”

“I’m not as scary as Lady Cassandra or Leliana?”

She had laughed at that, and it was the first time he had heard it. It was a deep, throaty sound, her mouth open wide and her eyes never leaving his. It was raw and honest, a window into the person he so desperately wanted to know.  He never pressed the issue once they became intimate. At one point in his life it may have been an obstacle, his lover not sharing his religious beliefs, but now after everything that he’d experienced it seemed a minor difference, no more important than if she had disliked his favorite color.

Now here she was, praying to Andraste, and he knew he had driven her to it. Somehow it seemed appropriate that he’d throw himself at her mercy here, in a place of worship and atonement.

“Ingrid, I owe you an explanation. And an apology. I never meant to hurt you, please understand that.”

“They always say that, don’t they?” She still faced the statue, still wouldn’t look at him. He wanted to know who “they” were, but he decided now wasn’t the time to ask. He took another step closer.

“When I told you I stopped taking lyrium, I downplayed my condition, just told you it was headaches or bad dreams. It was an ill-considered attempt to protect you from a burden that I felt I should deal with alone. Cassandra doesn’t even know the full extent of it.” He took a hesitant step forward.

“I also struggle with very painful memories, things I am ashamed of in my past that I withheld from you, purely because I was afraid…afraid to lose you.”

He took a deep breath. “But no more half-truths, no more lies of omission. I will tell you anything you want to know - about the lyrium, about my past, anything. You have only to ask.”

Silence fell between them. He wasn’t sure he was taking the right tack by leaving it in her hands, but somehow he hoped it would reestablish any trust that might have been lost.

She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder at the ground in front of him, her hands balled into fists. “Why didn’t you trust me? I could have,” her voice shuddered, “I could have _helped_ you, kept you from suffering.”

He took another step. “I would trust you with my life. I was an utter fool; I’ll never make that mistake again. You have my word.”

Ingrid faced him, her eyes slowly rising to meet his.

Fear glittered there like he’d never seen, not even when she went off by herself to face Corypheus at Haven. His breath caught in his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to erase her fears, but he couldn’t, not completely. He couldn’t know what his future held, just as she could never truly promise him she wouldn’t perish in battle.

“Quitting lyrium...could this kill you?”

“Yes.” He did not hesitate; his eyes never leaving hers. She flinched. “It’s not common, but it has happened. No one truly understands its effects on the body.”

She took a half step forward. “And the collapse? The dreams? It’s all part of that?”

“Yes. Although, this was the first time I’ve lost consciousness. Normally I can tell if I’m going to have a bad day, so I will try to remain in my office. It starts with the headaches that get progressively worse, sometimes so bad that I can’t see straight or hear things, or I can’t keep food down. Sometimes I feel feverish, as though I’m on fire. Then sometimes my body won’t move in the way I intend it to. And the bad dreams are...they feel _real_ , like a waking nightmare. I’m forced to relive my worst memories in vivid detail. Despite what you witnessed, they are never pleasant.”

A look of understanding came over her features. “A desire demon,” she said quietly, “am I right? You seemed so terrified when you woke.”

“Yes. I was the only templar to survive the Ferelden Circle Tower during the blight. I was imprisoned and made to watch my comrades get slaughtered, tortured for days by such a demon.”

She gasped, her hand going to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Oh, that was _you_? I’ve heard that story, everyone at the Ostwick Circle knew about it.” She shook her head in disbelief, her face pinching in anger. “Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me any of this? Isn’t that why I have a blighted spymaster?”  
  
“Please, do not blame the others. They wanted to allow me to tell you myself. Unfortunately it took much longer that it should have, once we…became close.”

Ingrid turned away from him, shoulders raised, hugging herself and staring at her feet. It worried him to see her so unsure, so meek. He wanted so badly to go to her, but he knew better than to push things, so he simply waited for her next inquiry.

“Did you love her?”

Of course, she was clever enough to work out how Amell fit into all of this. This time, he did hesitate.

“Yes.”

The admission caused her to make a strange garbled sound. Almost a laugh, but not quite.

“At least at the time, I thought it was love. I’m not sure what she thought it was. We were young. She ended up with Alistair after she left to join the Grey Wardens.”

She looked up from her feet. “And if she hadn’t gone?” Her tone was slightly accusatory.

He began to pace. “Honestly? Had she stayed, most likely, nothing would have happened. I was so angry at the circle mages for unleashing those abominations, and I hated them for it, for too long. I was especially angry with her.”

Ingrid looked surprised. “Why?”

He stopped to examine a cluster of candles, unable to look her in the eye. “After she became a Grey Warden, she came back to the tower, as I’m sure you’ve heard. When she rescued me from the demon, I,” he paused, the words not coming easily, “I wanted her to kill all of the surviving mages, innocent or otherwise, in case they were possessed. She refused, and I was furious.” His voice fell to an angry whisper. “Some of them were children.”

“Oh, Cullen.”

Silence filled the chapel. When he found the courage to look at her, he was surprised to find that she was watching him with a soft expression he couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t hate, or disgust, as he'd expected.

“This,” he moved toward her carefully, afraid she might still make a run for it, flee from his terrible confession, “this is what I was so afraid to tell you. You’re a mage and I, I am so ashamed of my actions, and the things I said, the things I thought I believed. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was weak. You’ve been nothing but forthright with me, I should have…I never expected to find you, to find anyone, and I was so afraid of losing this _one good thing_ I’ve found in my life. I fear now that I’ve only made things worse.”

Now she was moving toward him, and finally, they were face to face. He looked into her eyes, and she quickly became a blur, his throat constricting. He felt hot tears running down his cheeks, and he couldn’t stop them. All of the painful memories Alistair had brought back to the surface, all of the energy he had spent hiding his symptoms from everyone, the agony of withdrawal, the reminder of the hateful, bitter man he had once been, the innocent lives he might have taken, the needless deaths in Kirkwall he may have prevented, all of it came flooding forth and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

Surprisingly, he didn’t want to. All he wanted was for everything to be alright, for her to know that he would never withhold any pieces of himself again, that he was hers in his entirety, the good and the bad, as long as she would have him.

She reached up and wiped the tears away with both hands, holding him steady. He clutched her wrists and closed his eyes, feeling her touch; he was home again.

“I know better than most about the terrors of abominations. You were scared, you were young, and you had gone through a horrifying ordeal that many couldn’t have survived with their mind intact.” She scanned his features. “Maker, the weight you have been carrying, all this time. They should have never sent you to the order in Kirkwall.”

He looked at her, the horrible thought that had been plaguing him since the moment he knew he cared for her encircling his mind. “The thought that I could have…that I would have wanted to…had we been at the same circle…I cannot bear it.”

Ingrid gave him a small determined smile, gripping him by the shoulders. “Then don’t. It’s pointless to torture yourself with such thoughts, such what-ifs. We all have a past, and have done things we aren’t proud of. I’ve told you what I’ve done, and yet you’re still here.”

He could scarcely believe that she would think their situations were comparable. “Ingrid, killing to defend someone you care about is hardly anything to be ashamed of.”

“I didn’t have to set him on fire, Cullen. I could have given him a quick death, I carried a dagger with me. Could have slit his throat easily and be done with it, he didn’t even know I was behind him. I chose the slow death, I _chose_ to torture him. And to be honest, I enjoyed watching the bastard burn.” She looked away. “It’s…not something I’m proud of.”

Cullen found he didn’t have a response to that. When she had confided this to him, late one night in his bed, he had been so enraged by the behavior of that disgusting excuse for a templar that he hadn’t considered her method of defending her friend.

She fixed her eyes on his. “My point is, let us just focus on the here and now. You are the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies. You are supportive of both mages and templars, and have both fighting for you. You are brave, and just, and kind. You’ve learned from your mistakes, and you’ve come out the better for it. That’s all any of us can hope for in this life.”

Simultaneously they pulled one another in, nestling their faces in each other’s necks. He felt a sob shudder through her body, cutting him to the core.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She chuckled through her tears, warm breath tickling his skin. “Just like you to be more worried about me. My heart is breaking, knowing you endured such horrors. I wish I could have been there. At least let me help you now. I cannot bear the thought of you suffering alone. You can be free of lyrium, I know you can. We can do this together.”

He nuzzled her ear. “I love you, you know that, right?”

She smiled; it was what she had told him after their first night together. He remembered how his heart had soared at hearing that, euphoria mixed with disbelief.

“I love you too. And you could never lose me.”

She pulled back and kissed him, hard and frantic and sloppy, their tears and saliva mixing together. Ingrid was digging her hands into his hair and he felt her grind against him, and suddenly his manhood was throbbing against his trousers. He had to show her what she meant to him, he had to have her _right now_ , there could be no other way, they couldn’t spend one minute more than necessary without him being inside her.

With their lips still locked together, Cullen grabbed her by the behind and lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to the back of his neck as he carried her over to a candle-covered table against the wall, both of them humming and whimpering with impatient, maddening desire. With one swift motion, he swept the lit candles onto the floor and set her on the table, her legs dangling. She let go of his neck and rapidly started to unlace her trousers while he practically ripped off her boot – he just needed the one off for now. There would be no foreplay, no teasing.

She shoved down her trousers and freed her boot-free leg, then she undid his buckle while he fumbled with his trousers underneath. It was a bit awkward, causing a few breathless titters, but they managed. The sheathed sword clanged to the ground as he yanked his pants down and freed himself, his length bobbing down toward her and heavy with want.

Ingrid leaned on the stone wall and set her bare heel on the edge of the table, spreading for him, and Cullen could see her dark hair through her dampening smallclothes. Not wanting to waste another second, he moved forward, lifted her unclothed leg in one hand and steadied his manhood with the other, while she yanked her wet breeches to one side and moved down the table just a bit, giving him the access they both desperately needed.

He looked down just long enough to guide the tip in past her glistening folds, then he looked into her eyes as he slid his cock inside her wet cunt. Both of them let out a loud hissing sound, feeling the electricity and warmth of each other, becoming _one_ ; it was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. Waves of pleasure shot up through his abdomen and down to his toes.

She let go of her smalls and held onto his ass, the rest of him still covered in armor, and he held her leg up and to the side, his other hand braced on the wall behind her, his waist rotating as he thrust. He’d snap in all the way to his hilt, rolling his hips, slowly pull back and snap back in again, relishing the additional friction from her breeches on one side, keeping this rhythm until she cried out for more.

“Fuck, Cullen, faster! Harder!” He obliged, gladly. He gripped her leg and spread her even wider, her booted leg flung around his back, her dangling trousers flapping against him.

The table was slamming against the stone wall now as he pumped into her, climax building, her flexible leg sometimes moving up to his shoulder, repeating “harder!” like a mantra. She was so beautiful, so flushed and bare emotion, and she’d lean forward and pull his face to hers for a kiss every so often, lips jostling in time with his thrusts, moaning into each other’s mouths, until the ecstasy was too much and they’d have to pull back in order to fuck properly.

She didn’t need to warn him, he felt her walls begin to ripple, and he let himself go. They looked into each others eyes as they came together, crying out in unison, foreheads touching, and it was so wonderful, so intense, it almost made him weep again for a very different reason. He stroked slowly into her quivering sex as he softened, giving her languid kisses, her legs loosely hooked around his waist. There was so much he still wanted to say, but for right now, _this_ is how he needed to express himself, and she was returning the sentiment.

Ingrid broke the kiss and looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Cullen, do you realize what we just _did_?” She was still trying to catch her breath.

He reluctantly slipped out and pulled up his trousers, looking around and regaining his senses. “What do you…oh…Maker’s breath!” In the throes of passion, he’d completely forgotten where he was.

Someone could have walked in on them at any moment. He was no prude, but he certainly never imagined he would defile a place of worship like this. Even so, something about it all was _so_ _very_ appealing, and he wasn’t sure he could say it wouldn’t happen again. He pressed his palms against his forehead and looked back at the Andraste statue, laughing nervously.

Ingrid was dressing herself as she laughed along with him. “Really, it’s hysterical, if you think about it. Me, in here praying, and you, in here screwing my brains out.”

He buckled his scabbard and pretended to be frightened. “Do you think we’ll get struck down by lightning?”

“Remember, I’m the Herald; I can probably get away with it. And I’ll put in a good word for you.” She started returning the candles to the table. “Maker, look at this mess we made. All this candle wax, it’s everywhere!”

Cullen walked over and took her around the waist from behind, kissing her on her exposed neck. “I’m sorry, it’s just…the things you do to me. I had to show you how I feel.”

She giggled, leaning into his embrace. “And I you, my dear.” Ingrid sighed. “We really should clean this up.”

“Nonsense. I’ll talk to Josie, she’ll have it seen to. I’ll just say that I found it this way when I came in to pray.”

“Josie won’t believe that for a second. Or actually, maybe she will. Nobody would expect this from _you_.”

Cullen grinned and leaned in to kiss her again when the door flew open, a breathless recruit running in. Instinctively they stepped away from each other.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” The recruit’s look of panic turned to confusion, glancing at the candles scattered on the floor, then Ingrid, then Cullen. “Ser! We’ve been searching all over for you and the Inquisitor. Lady Leliana needs to see the both of you right away in the war room! She says it’s urgent!”

Ingrid looked at Cullen, all the playfulness gone; the Inquisitor, now. “This can’t be good.”

He thought about how fleeting happiness and contentment can be when you’re in the middle of a war as he rushed to meet with the others, still tender from their lovemaking, already becoming the Commander again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're probably tired of hearing it, but feed your authors - we love comments! Anything you particularly liked, didn't like? Ideas for future chapters?


	5. Five - Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is threatened, Josie and Alistair get to know each other.  
> This chapter is quite a bit longer than the others, but a lot needed to happen and I didn't want to chop it up and ruin the alternating POV tactic. Featuring artwork by [cute-ellyna](http://cute-ellyna.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgur.com/JePV145)   
> 

The air in the war room was thick with anxiety; Alistair could feel it in his bones the moment he entered. Josephine and Leliana were already there, the latter's face hard to read, but he knew that the news couldn't be good if he was being summoned here for the second time today.

“Ladies! It's been far too long.” They each gave him a solemn nod as he approached the massive knotted table. The silence that followed was uncomfortable enough to make him squirm.

“So...waiting for the Commander and the Inquisitor, I presume?”

“Yes. Apparently there is...news, of some sort.” Josephine glanced at Leliana; it seemed she didn't know what this was all about, either.

“Ah,  _news_. So how bad is it? On a scale from we're almost out of wine to we're all going to die, probably?”

Leliana's lips pressed together. “I shall inform you when all are present.”

“Right. Wouldn't want to repeat terrible news.”

Despite his outwardly flippant demeanor, Alistair felt concern unspooling in his belly. Leliana has seen more than most, and something had clearly rattled her. It wasn't anything that a casual observer would notice; her face was stony but he knew her tells. Even though her hands were behind her back, he knew that she was wringing them, twisting the fingers to and fro. It was a habit she'd had when he traveled with her during the blight, although in those days, she'd hold her hands in front, not feeling the need to hide when she was frightened or nervous from her companions.  

Recalling this spurred him to approach Leliana, who regarded him with puzzlement as he made his way around the table. He reached behind her back and took one of her gloved hands in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together. Just like old times.” He hoped he sounded reassuring. “I'm here to help in any way I can.”

Almost imperceptibly, her expression softened. “Thank you, Alistair. I’m glad you are here.”

Cullen and Ingrid strode into the room; looking every bit the power couple that they had become.

“Sorry we've kept you all waiting,” Ingrid's voice was commanding and clear. “Leliana, what's going on?”

Alistair’s eye was drawn to a flash of contrasting color on her tunic; a button was unfastened, the fabric puckering and opening over her stomach to reveal her tan skin when she moved. He quickly looked at Cullen and noticed that his hair was suspiciously sticking up at an odd angle in the back. Briefly their eyes met, and Alistair shot him a wink. Cullen’s eyebrows lowered in disapproval before he returned his attention to Leliana.

“Good, you're all here. We've no time to waste.” Leliana leaned forward as they took their usual places around the table, pressing her knuckles into the wood.

“My scouts have just returned from patrolling the route we took here from Haven; a routine mission, as you all know. Among them was one of Fiona's mages, who specializes in rare cloaking spells – not only casting, but how to sense and dispel them. She picked up something in this area here, near a cave at the foot of this mountain.” She snapped a marker down on the map, on an area just south of where they now stood. “It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, very powerful, with many layers. It took some time, but she was finally able to dispel the magicks.”

She inhaled sharply through her nose. “They are reporting a large camp of darkspawn and Red Templars. They appear to be an army of some sort, preparing to march on Skyhold.”

Josephine gasped, her fingers fluttering across her mouth, Alistair groaned. Cullen was the first to respond.

“Maker's breath,  _darkspawn_? How can this be, this isn't a blight! Are they being led by Samson? Was Corypheus present?”

“We do not know. My people were discovered and had to flee quickly before they were caught, to warn us. They were only able to determine that they are large in number, perhaps a thousand, give or take, and appear to be headed this way. Perhaps it is Samson, or yet another minion we do not know of. If Corypheus was there, I am sure his presence would have been sensed.”

Ingrid planted her hands on her hips, shaking her head in disbelief. “A darkspawn army! As if dealing with Venatori and red templars wasn’t bad enough.” Her voice rose, yet she appeared calm and in control, already getting a good read on the situation.  _It’s why they chose her_ , Alistair thought. “He must have gone after them after we took his mages away. I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of emissaries in their ranks.”

Josie and Cullen were silent, processing, brows furrowed.

“Leliana, are you sure it was darkspawn your scouts saw?” Alistair asked. It seemed so impossible, or perhaps he just didn't want to believe. Any darkspawn that remained after the blight normally kept deep within the Deep Roads, and they didn't surface in large numbers unless summoned by an old god, an arch demon. From everything he'd been told, Corypheus was a corrupted ancient Tevinter magister, not a god. Then again, neither was the Architect, who was able to awaken the creatures, along with…no, a broodmother wouldn’t be in a cave in the mountains…would it? Alistair’s stomach churned.

Eyes of blue steel fixated on him, and he knew the answer before she spoke. “None of them have encountered darkspawn before. From their descriptions, I have no doubt that is what they saw.”

Alistair tried to absorb what his old friend was telling him. “This doesn't make any sense. Although...you said when Corypheus attacked Haven, he had a dragon with him. Could that actually  _be_  an archdemon, after all?”

Ingrid shook her head. “I don’t think so. If it is a true arch demon, then why didn't it summon darkspawn before? Why not sic them on us in Haven?” Leliana started to respond, but Cullen cut her off.

“With all due respect, Inquisitor, these are all questions that can be asked later. Unlike Haven, this time we have fair warning, and we must use every moment we can to prepare for an attack. We know which enemies we'll be fighting, at least. They've lost the element of surprise, especially now that we have not one but two Grey Wardens with us to sense them, and that gives us the advantage.”

With all the commotion today Alistair had almost forgotten about Warden Blackwall. He’d tried to talk to the man at dinner about their mutual friend Duncan, but he had darted off as soon as Alistair had begun his approach. Grey Wardens were a strange lot.

Cullen grasped his chin with his thumb and forefinger, his mind working. “Corypheus wasn’t present. I’m sure your people would have known if he was, and this doesn’t seem like a move Samson would make. It’s too sloppy for him, too reckless, even with the cloaking magicks. Anyone with even the most basic military training would know that we would be monitoring that area. Not to mention that Samson would likely know how impenetrable this fortress is.”

If Alistair didn’t know any better, he’d think that Cullen almost looked pleased as he jabbed his finger at the marker Leliana had set. “No, this is an act of desperation by one of his followers to gain favor, perhaps trying to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak; the King of Ferelden and the Inquisitor. An unsanctioned move, which means we stand a good chance of fending off the attack. They’ll likely be inexperienced, disorganized.”

Cullen leaned over the map. “We must presume they've left camp already and are moving double-time, knowing they've been discovered. I'd say that puts them at Skyhold’s gates...” he did a quick mental calculation, tracing his finger along the most likely route, “...by nightfall tomorrow.”

There was a brief moment of silence as the information sunk in.

“Cullen,” Ingrid barked, “Walk us through this, what’s our plan?”

Cullen nodded in understanding; it was time to get to work.  “Leliana, did your mage sense any other disturbances, any possibility of other camps? Other places they could be hiding more troops?”

“They did a thorough search in the area; nothing else was discovered.”

“Good. That supports my theory, then. A thousand darkspawn and red templars will be a challenge, we’ve got about five hundred troops here at the moment, but we can fight them off with the proper preparations. However, there’s always a chance Corypheus and his dragon will make an appearance. We'll need all hands on deck, every capable man and woman who can wield a weapon. Only those that are willing, as reserves, of course.”

“I can help with this, Commander,” Josie interjected, “There are many nobles who would gladly fight alongside the Inquisition in exchange for bragging rights.”

“If they live to tell the tale, that is. Yes, we'll take all the help we can get. Leliana, we'll need your rogues attacking from the shadows on the approach to Skyhold, get their numbers down as much as possible before they reach our walls. You should use Cole, he's our best assassin.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“And my people and any equipment we’ve brought with us are at your disposal, of course. As am I.”

“Thank you, Alistair, but of course I cannot have the King risking his life, especially if you are the intended target. Your people along with your first-hand knowledge of darkspawn battle tactics will be assistance enough.”

“If you think I’m going to just sit idly by and dispense advice while my friends are being attacked, well, you are sadly mistaken.” Alistair crossed his arms, daring Cullen to deny him. “I  _can_  still fight, you know. Probably the best shield bash you’ve ever seen. Right, Leliana?”

Cullen threw up his hands. “How do you think the people of Ferelden will feel if they discover that their King died on some Maker-forsaken mountaintop helping to defend the heretical Inquisition?”

Josie tipped her quill in Cullen’s direction. “I have to agree with the Commander on this matter. It would not be wise for you to put your life on the line, if indeed you are a target, not only for your sake but for the sake of our reputation. People will say that we failed to protect you, that it was our fault their king died should anything happen. Surely your guards will be sufficient. I don’t want to –  _we_  don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Alistair was distracted by Josie’s slip of the tongue when Ingrid sidled up next to him.

“You’re going to fight anyway, aren’t you?” There was a knowing smile in her eyes.

Alistair, once again, was impressed by her. “See?” He pointed at Ingrid. “She gets me. I was about to just concede, but then jump into battle anyway in a blaze of glory. At least now it’s out in the open.”

Perhaps it was the stress of it all finally getting to her, but Leliana actually cracked a smile, trying to pull her hood down so nobody would notice. Alistair caught her eye and she shook her head at him in amusement.

“I can vouch for him, Cullen; like you, he’s not just a pretty face, he’s an excellent swordsman. He’ll be a good asset.” The redhead turned to Alistair with a smirk. “That is, if you’ve kept up your training.”

“Of course I have. How do you think I’ve kept my girlish figure after all these years?”

Ingrid addressed her advisors. “I think the people know their King to be a man of courage and honor, who fought bravely as a Grey Warden in the Fifth Blight alongside the Hero of Ferelden, and our very own spymaster. They will know that he doesn’t shy away from a battle or let others fight for him.” She turned to Alistair and gave him a mock little curtsy. “It will be an honor to fight at your side, Your Majesty.”

Alistair bowed deeply. “Ah, but the honor is all mine, Inquisitor. I can think of worse things than dying defending a beautiful woman and her cause.”

Cullen loudly cleared his throat. “Are we just about done here? Or should we practice our bows and curtsies for the darkspawn some more?”

Ingrid and Alistair exchanged sheepish looks.

“As I was saying…I don’t agree, but I suppose I cannot deny you your right to fight, and of course the Inquisitor has the final say. So be it. I will need you to help formulate a strategy as well. I do not believe any of my soldiers have encountered darkspawn before, and you have much more experience than I in that regard.”

“Of course. I’ll put that Grey Wardening to good use.”

“Good. Josie, I'll also need you to gather everyone as soon as we adjourn, we'll need to tell the people to prepare for an assault. Have them gather ‘round the steps. It's imperative we do it in such a way to not cause complete panic – we must convey that we have a sound plan, ask for volunteers, and tell them that we're confident of victory. We must give the people hope, that this will not be a repeat of Haven. Let them know we will defend these walls!”

Cullen looked to Ingrid; if he was worried whatsoever, he was doing a good job of hiding it. “As our leader, the announcement should come from you, Inquisitor.”

Doubt flickered across her face. “Yes, of course.”

Cullen’s steely façade softened. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.” He gave her a small, crooked smile, and his eyes were saying something else; a silent message meant only for her. Ingrid gave a slight nod in acknowledgement, and Alistair thought he saw a sheen in her eyes.

Cullen was back to business. “After the speech, Inquisitor, I’ll need you to bring your companions to my office. Alistair, you should come as well. Leliana, we should meet as soon as you’re able, we’ll need to coordinate strategy.”  


“And I will sort the volunteers and send them your way, Commander.” Josie said, already scribbling onto her notepad.

“I will have a plan ready for you by sundown.” Leliana added.

“Well,” Ingrid said, “It looks like we all have our marching orders. Time for a rousing victory speech!” Everyone started to move toward the door when Ingrid stopped them.

“Wait! I just wanted to say one thing.” She drew herself up tall, clasping her hands behind her back. “Whatever happens, just know that I appreciate each and every one of you. I couldn’t have asked for a better team.” She looked at each of them square in the eye. “We are a force to be reckoned with now, thanks to your hard work. We  _will_  survive this.”

Her advisors bowed their heads in appreciation then filed out the door, in a hurry to begin preparations. Alistair started to leave when he realized that Ingrid was still rooted to the spot, staring at the map.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Honestly? No, I’m not. I can’t believe this is happening again.” She clenched her fists, eyes still on the table. “I feel like I’ve let everyone down. And now I have to make a speech, to tell everyone ‘Oh, please don’t worry, it’ll be nothing like Haven, I promise!’” She laughed bitterly. “How can I expect anyone to believe that? I’m not even sure I believe it, myself.”

“Hey,” Alistair stepped closer to her, “This is not your fault. You can’t expect to prevent every bad thing from happening, you’re only one person. It’s nobody’s fault but Corypheus-es-es.”

Ingrid bit her lip, suppressing a grin.

“From what I’ve seen, a lot has changed since Haven. You’re a powerful organization now with an actual army. I think the people will see this as a last ditch resort to hurt you, a foolish attempt, as Cullen said. They’ll stand with you, they’ll fight, they’ll believe. Hell, if I can get a country to follow a bastard like  _me_ , then the entire world should be bowing at your feet.”

She sighed, mussing her short black hair. “I’ve never been any good at speeches. The last time I did so was at Ostwick during my final theory presentation; I was so bad that the Senior Enchanter used me as an example of what  _not_  to do. Probably still does, if the old bat is still alive.”

“I didn’t think I was either, before I had to address the soldiers at the Battle of Denerim. I was just named as the king, and I was so nervous, my palms were  _drenched_ , I had absolutely no idea what to say.” Alistair’s heartbeat quickened a bit just remembering the anticipation, the electricity in the air, the fear. “But something strange happened, when I actually got up there and saw all of their hopeful, determined faces. I could  _see_  their courage, and I dunno, something just clicked. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I spoke from the heart, Solona was next to me and there was a lot of yelling. It must have worked, because they cheered like mad and ran off, all fire and fury. And, well, we won.”

“I’ve heard about that speech. It’s become pretty legendary.” Ingrid raised her fist in the air, mimicking Alistair’s voice in a quiet shout, “For the Grey Wardeeeeens!”

Alistair laughed. “You can use that bit during your speech. For the Inquisitiooooon!”

They allowed themselves to laugh, just for a moment.

“We should get to work.”

“Yes. And Alistair? Thank you.”

He dipped his head and left the room, trying very hard not to think about having to fight darkspawn, again.

****

The crowd was already gathered around the steps and buzzing with anticipation when Alistair and his guards exited the main hall. It hadn’t taken very long to assemble all of them, he was sure it was all due to Josie’s indomitable hustle. Ingrid and her advisors were assembled on the landing, all turning when Alistair approached and making way for him next to Cullen. Cassandra was there as well, presumably having been briefed on the situation.

The Commander gestured to the crowd to settle down. “Please,” he shouted over the rising din, “Quiet down. The Inquisitor has an important announcement to make.”

The loud talking turned to murmuring, but the noise didn’t cease.

“He said SHUT THE FUCK UP!” A booming voice cut through commotion, causing the noise to stop instantly. Alistair followed the sound: it was the Qunari, Iron Bull, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. “Boss? You had something you wanted to say?”

“I, yes, thank you, Bull.” Ingrid cleared her throat and planted her feet apart, glancing at Cullen. He set a hand on her shoulder, briefly, before she addressed the audience.

“We wouldn’t have asked you all here if the matter wasn’t urgent. Time is of the essence, so I’ll get right to it.”

She drew a deep breath before continuing.

“Our spies have discovered a large group of enemies that are marching on Skyhold, and we expect them to be here by tomorrow at nightfall.”

Immediately the crowd erupted in disbelief, cries of “How large?” and “Maker have mercy!” and “Not again!” and “How can this be?” ringing throughout the courtyard. Alistair saw a couple of nobles fainting, their companions fanning their faces.

“Please, let me finish! I will answer your questions if you just let me finish!” Ingrid shouted, and after some shushing the crowd quieted down again.

“Rest assured, people of the Inquisition, this will not be a repeat of Haven. We know our enemies now, we have time to prepare, and Skyhold is nigh impenetrable. Our Commander already has a plan to defend our fortress, and the King of Ferelden has agreed to fight with his men at our side.”

There were murmurs of approval. She stepped forward, scanning the crowd. “We have reason to believe this is an unsanctioned attack by one of Corypheus’ lesser minions. We strongly believe that we have the advantage.”

“However, we must remain cautious, so for that reason, we need volunteers to bolster our ranks, as reserves. If you are willing and able-bodied, line up at the armory afterward and Josephine will get you sorted.”

Ingrid looked to Cullen, and he stepped forward. “We will convene again here tomorrow to provide further instructions, until then, please remain calm, await orders from your superiors, and trust in your Inquisitor.” He looked at her as he said, “She will not fail us, and we shall not fail her.”

Alistair was watching a nobleman dramatically regain consciousness when he heard the  _shiing_  of a blade being unsheathed. Ingrid was holding Cullen’s sword, brandishing it over the crowd.

“Not so long ago, I stood in this very spot, and you all made a pledge to serve the Inquisition. Will you  _still_  fight?” She thrust the sword into the air.

The crowd cheered.

“Will you  _still_  follow?” They cheered even louder.

“Will you  _still_  triumph?” The people were screaming now.

“We will defend Skyhold and we will be victorious!” The cheers were almost deafening. The crowd dispersed, many headed in the direction of the armory.

Alistair saw Cullen pull the Inquisitor in close and whisper something in her ear, something that made her smile, and then he was off to tend to his duties. Ingrid fell in step beside Alistair as they reentered the main hall.

“Nice speech. But no majestic ‘For the Inquisition!’?”

“Well, I have to save  _something_  inspirational for tomorrow, don’t I?”

****

The hour was late and Alistair was weary, yet sleep eluded him.

He and the entire inner circle had just spent hours in Cullen’s office going over every detail imaginable with the Commander and his lieutenants in preparation for the oncoming attack. Ingrid had eventually insisted they regroup in the morning, she’d be damned if they’d be defeated due to lack of rest.

It was inevitable that his thoughts would turn to the Battle of Denerim, and so he braced himself. Yet…the heartache, the guilt that usually chased immediately after the memory, it was a little less painful, less  _acute_. He’d run over the events a thousand, maybe a million times in his head; if it had been a script, his thoughts would have been hastily scribbled in the margins, certain sentences struck through. She had insisted he stay behind, ordered him to, but he should have ignored her and went along, he should have known Riordan would fail; Alistair should have taken the killing blow.

Now there was a strange clearing of the fog, a different voice cutting through that wasn’t accusatory; it was matter-of-fact and a little cold.

Most likely, had he gone with her, they would both be dead.

The minute he’d have seen her go for the archdemon, he’d have followed, unthinking and irrational in a mad craze to save her. The Theirin bloodline would have ended, Ferelden would be left with Anora as its queen, and who knows what sort of ruler she’d have turned out to be? The daughter of a murderous traitor who tried to throw Solona to the wolves at the Landsmeet the minute she voiced support for Alistair and who also wanted to have him executed just for existing didn’t seem like a  _great_  option, to say the least.

Or worse, he would have caused them to fail at killing it, and even more lives would have been lost. Perhaps they both would have died later anyway, during another horrible battle where this time they would be grossly outnumbered by the darkspawn, fighting only out of honor and knowing they didn’t stand a chance.

He was too emotional when it came to her, and she knew him better than he knew himself.

He had to stay behind. Solona knew what she was doing; she put the duty of a Grey Warden and the lives of the people of Thedas ahead of their ultimately selfish need to be together. Maker forgive him, she made the right call, as she had so many times before.

No, not the Maker, he had to forgive himself.  Oddly, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

“Pfft, only took ten years.” Alistair rubbed his temples and tried to bring himself back to the present.

 _Sleep, must get some sleep, if I’m going to be worth a damn tomorrow_ , he thought. At least this time there was no Ultimate Sacrifice to be made, they just had to hold the keep and follow Cullen’s orders. His plan was sound, dare he say foolproof, and spirits were high that they would be victorious. Even Sera had seemed optimistic, her exact words being “ _All_  my arrows in  _all_  the danglebags!” followed by a less confident, “Do darkspawn  _have_  danglebags?”

Alistair’s stomach growled suddenly, he recalled that he’d really just been nibbling all day, and in the excitement he hadn’t felt hungry. Until now, of course when he was trying to get some much needed rest.

He sat up and looked around the room, some sad-looking fruit was left on a platter that had been provided for him, but he needed more sustenance than that. Some meat, some cheese, some bread washed down with a little ale, then he could sleep like a babe. He decided to get it himself; the walk would help to shake out his thoughts.

With his guard stationed outside, Alistair shuffled into the kitchen. It was blessedly deserted; he didn’t much feel like making small talk or hearing a bunch of “Your Majesties”. A couple of candles were lit, perhaps in anticipation for late-night raids by the snackier members of the Inquisition.

He rubbed his hands together once he laid eyes on the larder. He headed toward it while grabbing a candle, his stomach growling louder in anticipation.

A figure was hunched over inside, spinning around at his approach and letting out a garbled sound of surprise that turned into a strangled cough. Alistair struggled to hold onto the candle in his shock, some hot wax dripping onto his finger.

“Josie?? Is that you?”

She was coughing furiously now, he quickly set the candle down and pulled her out, clapping her on the back.

“Maker, forgive me, are you all right?”

“I’m – ah – fine,” she finally managed, gesturing to a bottle on a nearby counter, “drink, please.”

He grabbed the wine and handed it to her, watching her chug the liquid down. She set the bottle down hard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Alistair, you gave me quite a fright! And I must say I am absolutely mortified that you found me like this.”

She was smoothing her nightgown with one hand and her hair with the other. He tried not to stare at the white silky fabric that hinted at the lines of her body, whispering against her skin whenever she moved, or her surprisingly strong arms that peeked out from the loosely draped sleeves, or at the spot where the fabric met into a deep v between her breasts, or at her loose curls spilling well past her shoulders. He had no idea her hair was so  _long_.

“No reason to be embarrassed; we came here for the same thing, did we not? To stuff our faces in the middle of the night?”

She took another sip of wine, and he could see her glossy lips curving upward in the dim candlelight. “I suppose that’s true, but I’m not decent, and you’re…” she trailed off as her eyes scanned his form, quickly looking away. He suddenly remembered that he’d neglected to tie up his tunic; his chest was exposed.

“I should really bid you good night.” She gathered her long gown and started to move past him.

“Wait, please, I could really use the company. I, I couldn’t sleep. Won’t you stay, at least a little while?” He realized he was pleading perhaps a little too hard, but there was no taking it back now.

She stopped at the door and turned to him, giving a quick shrug. “I suppose a little conversation couldn’t hurt. It’s unlikely I’ll be sleeping any time soon, either.”

“Wonderful! Now, did you see any meat or cheese while you were in there?”

“Allow me.” She swiftly moved into the larder, he could hear her rummaging while she called out to him. “We have an excellent sausage made in-house, a Fereldan recipe actually. Cullen cannot get enough of it.”

“Well, if  _Cullen_  likes it…I’ll take it.”

She emerged with an armful of meats, cheeses and bread, carefully setting each item down in front of Alistair on the work surface. “I believe it is appropriate in this case to forego propriety and dig in, wouldn’t you say?”

“Mmf, absolutely,” Alistair said through a mouthful of sausage. “Wow, this  _is_  really good.”

“We need some dessert, as well.” She padded away and returned with a small tin of cookies. “I was actually tasting one of these when you found me.”

“Tasting or devouring?” Alistair teased, tearing off a hunk of bread.

“Now now, a lady does not devour,” Josie joked, nibbling on a cookie and offering him the bottle of wine.

He took a quick swig; it was spicy and heady, he would have to be sure not to have too much of it. There was really nothing quite like swinging a sword with a hangover, and he aimed to never experience it again.

They ate and drank and chatted, huddled around the countertop in the candlelight. They compared notes on their cooks, with Alistair sharing some of his favorite dishes from Denerim and Josie enthusiastically wanting to try some of the recipes. She explained the inner workings of their supply chain, such as which cheese monger had the best Emmenthaler (a personal favorite of Alistair’s) or how difficult it actually was to get any food at all up to Skyhold.

She clearly took pride in her work, keeping this Inquisition running smoothly, and Alistair found it infectious, hanging on her every word as he polished off the last of the sausage. Somehow she managed to make even the most minute details sound exciting. He found her captivating like this; relaxed, chatty, eating with her hands and somehow glowing even though she must have been exhausted, more so than he.

“Oh, listen to me,” she suddenly exclaimed, jarring him, “you must find all this so incredibly dull! You wanted to chat, and here I am, prattling on about work!”

“No, not at all!” Alistair moved with purpose around the table toward her. For the life of him, he had no idea where this confidence was coming from, nonetheless he embraced it. “I love listening to you talk. About anything.”

He didn’t stop until was close enough to hear her breathing, and she looked up at him, her hands nervously sweeping her hair over one shoulder.

“Oh, I see. That’s, um, very nice of you.” She continued to fidget with her tresses, looking between her feet and his eyes.

For a moment Alistair was afraid she’d back away, that he’d perhaps had been too forward, but deep down somehow he knew she wouldn’t.

Josie shifted toward him ever so slightly, her hands stilling, so he closed the gap for her. He reached up to her face, her eyes flitting shut, her lips parting ever so slightly.

Swiftly he brushed his thumb across the corner of her mouth, and her eyes opened in confusion.

“You had a little…” he showed her the smear of chocolate, and she grimaced, raising a hand over her eyes in embarrassment.

“Ugh, of  _course_  I did. Thank you.”

“To be honest, I may have done it for selfish reasons.” Slowly he brought his thumb to his lips, gently sucking off the confection, his eyes never leaving hers. “Mm, delicious.”

Josie gasped, watching his mouth with interest. “Yes, you are. Oh my, that is, the  _cookies_  are delicious.”

Alistair chuckled, and he reached down, taking her by the hand. It was elegant, soft, a diplomat’s hand. He was all in now, caught up in the rush of his momentum, and Maker, his head was so  _clear_.

“Josie, I hope I’m not being too forward but…you intrigue me.” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, watching her, holding his kiss long enough so there was no mistaking his intention.

 “Oh, Alistair,” she breathed, her free hand splayed across her chest.

“Will you allow me? To court you, that is?” He kissed her hand again, this time bringing her hand up to lightly graze his cheek, not being able to resist feeling her skin on his.  “Sorry if I’m not doing this properly, it’s, ah, been a while.”

Her eyes were searching his face, and for a horrible moment he was sure that he completely misread the situation, that he offended her in some way. Josie was a proper lady, nobility, and he was still learning the ropes all these years later. Maybe she was trying to think of a way to let him down easily? Maybe –

His thoughts were interrupted when her lips crashed into his, her arms thrown around his neck. He recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around her waist, returning her open-mouthed kisses, lustful and tender at the same time, her soft lips sliding and pressing against his, their hot breaths intermingling.

When they finally broke apart, panting and flushed, he realized he’d been holding her up as she let go of his neck and slid down his body. He was all too aware of the feel of her breasts underneath the silk pressing against his almost bare chest.

“Wow,” he exhaled, holding onto her hips, “I take that as a yes, then?”

She giggled. “You are correct.” Her expression grew serious. “If anything were to happen to either of us tomorrow, I would really regret not doing that.” She caressed his face. “But I thank you for being a gentleman.”

He groaned. “Ah, I had almost forgotten about tomorrow. We should probably turn in or else Ingrid will be really upset if she sees bags under our eyes.”

Josie sighed. “Yes, we really do need our rest.”  

“See you tomorrow then? This was, um, really nice.”

She replied, very matter of factly, “I was just thinking, we might sleep more soundly together, actually.”

Alistair was taken aback. “Wow, uh, okay, I must say I wasn’t expecting  _that_. Not that I’m  _opposed_  to it, but –”

“Oh, silly me, of course that sounded odd. I meant  _only_  sleep, nothing more.” She looked down at her hands. “Normally I would never propose such a thing so soon, but it would be nice to have a companion on a night such as this. We…do not truly know what tomorrow may bring.”

Relief washed over him, he wasn’t sure he was up for that kind of pressure just yet. He also found that he wanted nothing more than to be there to comfort her. “I would like that very much. My room or yours?”

“Mine,” she said without hesitation, “my bed is infinitely more comfortable.”

“Hey, I thought you said you gave me the best room in the place? That my bed was better than even the Inquisitor’s?”

“Alistair, you still have much to learn about diplomacy, apparently.” Her voice was teasing but her expression was kind.  He followed her to her room, woozy and willing, thankfully encountering no one else on the way.

It didn’t take long for him to drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep, the light scent of her hair under his nose and the feel of her back against his chest. He had not the energy or the time to reflect on what all of this meant; how his life would be different from now on, or how wonderful it felt to be holding someone he actually cared about again.

He made a vow to himself that if they survived tomorrow, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently without a beta so feel free to point out any errors! And comments, comments, always need comments - do we like where this is going?


	6. Six - Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's resolve is tested as the attack on Skyhold commences, and some unexpected help arrives. Featuring Cullen and Alistair being a couple of BAMFS. Any deviations from lore or in-game details are entirely intentional to serve the story I wanted to tell. I've also never written action like this so your lenience is appreciated :).  
> See if you can spot the action flick cliches.

Cullen dipped his trembling hands into the pitcher, rubbing some water over his face and raking it through his filthy hair. He felt the urge to bathe, but seeing as how they were about to enter into combat in roughly twelve hours, he didn’t see the point, nor did he want anyone to use their precious time to draw him a bath.

What he did want was a dose of lyrium, and he wanted it more than ever.

He tilted his head to the side and grimaced. He’d become accustomed to the pounding headaches, but now his back and neck also ached from sitting in that chair for so long. He itched down to his very bones and was suddenly overtaken by the desire to strip naked, to truly _breathe_ , if only for a little while. Maker knew when he’d have another chance.

“Screw it,” he murmured. It was the wee hours of the morning just before sunrise and Skyhold was at rest. He could afford a few moments of freedom while he went over his plans again, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Perhaps it would help to take his mind off of the cravings.

He locked the doors and took off his layers, moving swiftly until he was down to only his breeches. He considered leaving them on - bare ass on wood wasn’t the best feeling - but he had no desire to sit. He slid down his smalls and kicked them into the corner. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the feel of the cool morning air on his sweat-dappled body.

Cullen took a swig of his medicinal tea, grimacing at the bitter coldness, and leaned over the map of Skyhold on his desk, taking note of all the markings he’d made. Reviewing his plan to defend the keep over and over and over until his eyes bled would be necessary if he couldn’t take lyrium to get through this.

He heard the song again, the one that had come to him when he had nodded off in his chair a moment ago, the one that always filled his thoughts during the rough patches _._

_It’s not that you **can’t** take it, it’s that you **won’t** take it. _

If the drug would help him focus and give him an edge in battle, would it be worth taking it just this _one last time_ to ensure victory for the Inquisition? Alistair may have tossed out his personal vial, but there was plenty more where that came from.

But how did he know they wouldn’t face another situation such as this? And since when did lyrium ensure success? He’d seen many fully dosed, highly skilled templars fall in combat. No, he couldn’t give in, or else all his progress would be for naught. If he started now, he’d never be able to quit again, of that he was sure.

He had made her a promise that he would not allow the events at Haven to happen again, just as he had promised himself that he would free himself of his addiction. He would honor those words, even if it killed him.

Cullen massaged his temples and tried to quiet his mind, scrutinizing his plans once again. As soon as the sun rose, he would make sure all of Skyhold would be ready for the battle to come.

He was so lost in concentration, going over the plan of defense in his mind from every possible angle and shutting out his unsavory thoughts that he didn’t hear or see her come down the ladder.

“Feeling a bit warm, were we?”

He jumped, covering his crotch and realizing how silly that was, seeing as how she was more than intimate with every part of him. She was leaning against the ladder wearing a boxy tunic she kept in his loft, eyeing him with one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, actually,” he snatched up his linen trousers, averting her stare.

“Please, don’t get dressed on my account,” Ingrid teased, “I’m loving the view.”

Normally he’d have a witty comeback, but seeing her right now had an unexpected effect on him. He felt vulnerable, exposed, irritated, fatigued, and was angry at himself for all of it. Wordlessly he pulled on his linens and sat at the desk, going back to his plans.

She slipped behind him, sliding her hands down the sides of his neck and across his shoulders.

“Maker, Cullen, these knots are bigger than my fists. Here, let me just…” she began to rub his shoulders, but when she dug her fingers in to the gnarled muscle, he hissed from the pain and jerked away from her.

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really, just…” he sighed. “Not now, please. I must go over this, make sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Cullen,” she implored, “have you even slept?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

“For how long? In this chair? I know you never came to bed.”

He waved a hand at her, still looking at his plans. “Long enough! This is too important, it must be foolproof, there can be no mistakes. The enemy will be here by nightfall.”

Ingrid wrapped her arms around him from behind, kissing him below his ear; one of his favorite spots. “Everyone thought it was sound; Blackwall, Cass, Bull, Alistair. It _will_ work.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled as she kissed him again. “I just thought we should spend a little time together, you know, while we still can.” She rubbed her hands on his chest. “We still have time before sunrise, if we start now.” He could feel her smile against his neck, and she darted her tongue out, softly licking him.

Cullen groaned at the sensation and turned his head toward her, wanting and not wanting to give in to her advances. She moved to meet his lips and they kissed, gently at first then growing deeper, his hand reaching up to cup her face. She ran one hand through his hair and caressed his chest with the other, his nipples tightening at her touch. When she sucked on his bottom lip and pulled, his blood began to stir in that old familiar way.

Reading her lover like a book, her hand traveled down the solid plane of his abdomen and rested on his member, which already threatened to peek out of his trousers.

She broke the kiss to look down her discovery, slipping her hand underneath the fabric. He stared at the expanse of her long neck, watching her pulse beat underneath the soft skin. In his mind’s eye he saw the skin splitting in two, black blood spewing forth at an alarming rate.

Cullen pushed away from the desk, away from _her_ and stood, horrified and frustrated at the tricks his mind was playing on him.

“Maker, woman! I am trying to WORK, why won’t you let me just do my job!”

Ingrid watched him, looking just about as helpless as he felt. It made him feel even worse. He took a deep breath; he needed to steady himself, he needed to explain. He needed to do anything besides think about that blue liquid.

“You almost DIED. Don’t you understand? It is my job to protect you, to protect our people and I failed. I promised you that I wouldn’t allow another Haven, and it’s happening _again_. More people will likely die, _again_. Good people whose only crime was trusting in the Inquisition, trusting in me. And now the only thing I can do is study this and work though every possible angle over and over, that’s all I can do until we are safe, until you are safe. Because the only thing I truly _want_ to do, I cannot, and I’m struggling to keep from going insane.”

She stepped toward him and he knew what she was trying to do; he couldn’t allow it.

“Please, do not try and soothe me. I don’t deserve that.”

_If you would simply **take** it, you wouldn’t be snapping at her when she only wants to help._

Cullen sighed and slumped over, planting his hands on his knees and letting his head hang down. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so exhausted in his entire life.

“Is it that bad?” she said quietly.

“More than you could possibly know. Be thankful you do not.”

She picked at her fingers, a habit she often fell into when she was unsure of what to do. Josie and Leliana thought it unladylike, but he found it endearing.

“Perhaps you should sit down?” she offered.

He drew himself upright and crossed his arms. “I’d rather stand, I’ve been in that chair for hours.”

“Alright. We’ll try it your way.” She stood in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow and regretted it instantly; every muscle in his head was thrumming. “Try what?”

Ingrid must have noticed his anguish and gave him a look of sympathy. She brought her hands up and hovered them over either side of his head. “May I?”

He understood her intention then, and if he was being honest with himself, he was wary. She had healed him yesterday after the collapse, and for that he was grateful, even though he would likely never be thrilled to have magic applied directly to him. As much as he trusted her above all others, Cullen didn’t want to become reliant on her mana to ease his symptoms. Stubbornly his instinct was to decline, to suffer through it, because some part of him _wanted_ to feel the pain, deserved it, a reminder of all the innocents he failed to protect and the lives he wanted to take.

The Inquisition may be his chance to atone, but his lyrium withdrawals were the punishment he felt he was due.

But, she would see right through him should he decline; she would suffer no martyrs. He had vowed to let her in so they may face their problems together. He would not drive another wedge between them for more self-flagellation.

He nodded and closed his eyes. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and when she exhaled, her hands pressed onto his skull but they weren’t hands. They couldn’t be; they felt like pure ice. His whole body shuddered, but the sensation was pleasing, numbing, waves of cold reverberating from her palms into his skull and down through his neck. And then it was over.

Cullen opened his eyes to Ingrid watching him closely. “I’m sorry, was that too much too fast? I just wanted to make sure it worked.”

“No, it’s, ah, it’s fine. More than fine.” Now that the oddity of it was wearing off, he felt invigorated, like he’d had a full night’s sleep, and there was no pain. More than that, his cravings were markedly dulled – not completely gone, but manageable. “Thank you.”

She traced the edge of the desk with her finger. “For a moment, I thought you were going to refuse my help. Of course, that would be madness.” She smiled coyly.

He smirked in spite of himself, and then grew sober, taking her around the waist. “Listen, about what I said--”

She shook her head and pressed her fingertips onto his lips, this time they were warm, almost hot. “I understand. I do. But remember, we made those decisions together. We agreed on that call at Haven. This attack, I don’t know, maybe there was something we missed. Believe me, I’ve been thinking about that too, and I’m sure Leliana has as well. We all share in the Inquisition’s successes and failures; it’s not all on your shoulders.”

“You’re right. Of course you are,” Cullen let his hands rest on her hips and felt the sudden urge to confess something to her. He shuffled his feet. “There’s something I must tell you.”

“I knew it!” she stepped back and planted her fists on her hips. “You’re running away with Alistair! I should never have left you two alone.”

Cullen chortled and shook his head – she was always game to lighten the mood. He wondered if she and Alistair were twins separated at birth.

“No, I’m afraid that’s not it, as appealing as being the Queen of Ferelden sounds.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m a bit punchy. I’ve barely slept, myself. What did you want to tell me?”

He took a deep breath. “I wanted to step down as Commander, and I very well almost did.”

Ingrid’s mouth fell open. “What? When? Why?”

He rubbed his neck and peered out of the window, noticing that sunrise was imminent. “After I collapsed. I told Alistair of my intention, looking for his endorsement. I thought I wasn’t fit to serve. He helped me see that it wasn’t what’s best for the Inquisition…or for you.” He turned to her. “I thought you should know; no secrets between us. But I am here to stay, as long as you need me.”

He paused. “I hope you don’t think less of me.”

To his surprise Ingrid laughed. “Are you kidding? Do you want to know how many times I considered quitting? Just stealing off into the night, never to be heard from again? Once, after a particularly rough day I even considered paying someone to hack off this blasted hand!”

Cullen recoiled at her gruesome admission, even though he understood the impulse.

“But I didn’t, because of you.”

The words hung in the air as she picked up his hand and concentrated on it, toying with his palm and fingers.

“I don’t know if I ever told you this, but…you inspire me to be a better person. You’re noble, fair, rational, kind hearted but not afraid to do what must be done. In the early days of the Inquisition, when I would be out in the field, I would always think ‘What would Cullen do?’” She snickered, a blush popping out on her cheeks. “I know, silly, right? Sometimes I still think that.”

Cullen was still trying to absorb the magnitude of her statement. He admired a great many things about her, it’s why he fell in love so completely, but to think that she reciprocated those feelings, it was almost too much. He felt as if he was just doing his job.

“Anyway, this _thing_ ,” she waved her left hand, “is a part of me now, for better or worse, and it _is_ helping people. I’m still here, you’re still here, and damn it, we’re _trying_. And we win a hell of a lot more than we lose, that’s saying something, right?”

Cullen watched her look up at him while she chewed on her bottom lip. He was reminded of the early days of their relationship when he often thought was a figment of his lyrium-deprived mind. It was still difficult sometimes to believe she was not only real but returned his love; championed him, _admired_ him, even. It made his head spin, in a wonderful way.

He brought her in close for a tight embrace and nuzzled his head against her neck.

“When did you become so wise?"

“When I fell in love with you,” she answered without hesitation, as if it were obvious.

He smiled and brought his forehead to hers. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing in deeply with their eyes closed, hands slowly rubbing each other’s backs.

Cullen felt a stirring as the room brightened from the rising sun, and even though he knew someone would come knocking soon, he didn’t care.

He grabbed her bottom and growled when he felt her do the same. She slipped his trousers down and he stepped out of them while they kissed each other reverently, even though they had little time. Cullen hummed into her mouth as she stroked him, breaking the kiss only when he pulled her tunic over her head and tossed it to the floor.

Swiftly he lifted her and knelt on the rug before gently lowering her onto her back. She writhed underneath him, pulling him down, her large eyes needful.

“No,” he said softly, “Let me look upon you.” They switched places and she lowered herself onto his length, going slower than she needed to.

She was otherwordly in the golden light of dawn, her features moving in and out of the rays and shadows as she moved and shuddered on top of him. Their lovemaking was slow this time, tender, aching. His hands and eyes never left her skin, always roaming, remembering. When he saw a tear roll down her face, he pulled her down to him and held her tight, kissing her and thrusting in deeper so that she might forget.

They climaxed together in front of his desk as the sun rose over Skyhold, the sounds of its people rising to meet a new challenge wafting in, mingling with their quiet moans.

***

The day had been hectic, to put it mildly.Leliana and Cole had descended with her agents to the path leading to Skyhold in the morning, taking their places to prepare for the ambush. Cullen had personally reviewed every corner of Skyhold and drilled his troops for hours, careful not to tire them and making sure they knew their orders and Alistair’s instruction on darkspawn weaknesses. Blackwall and Iron Bull had been assigned to coach the volunteers on how to properly handle weapons. The smithy had been alive with activity nonstop since the announcement, sharpening and repairing every weapon and piece of armor in the keep. Fiona’s mages were sorted into damagers and healers, the latter identified with green scarves. Non-essentials were brought inside and doors and gates were barricaded. The troop camp at the foot of Skyhold’s outer gate had been cleared; if everything went as planned, that would be the final battleground. Lyrium, health potions, grenades and poisons had been rounded up and set up in caches in strategic locations, oil barrels and flints were put into position. Everyone had worked tirelessly and appeared to understand their orders when asked.

Now everyone had taken their battle positions; Sera and the archers on the bridge, soldiers and battlemages were assembled below with the rest of Ingrid’s companions. Josephine was left to oversee the people behind the gates, ready for battle should the need arise. She had even had her old leathers and daggers reconditioned, Cullen almost didn’t recognize her when she greeted him in full rogue armor.

To put it simply, they were as ready as they would ever be.

“Well, I guess we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Alistair echoed Cullen’s thoughts. The king stood beside him at the fore of the camp turned battlefield, with the Inquisitor and the Grand Enchanter.

He was quite the inspiring sight in his gleaming golden royal armor and the Grey Warden shield on his back, truly looking like a ruler who hadn’t forgotten his roots. Cullen wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, but he was glad the man hadn’t heeded him and insisted on joining the fight. The sun was setting and all eyes were focused on the path that led down the mountain, waiting for the horn to sound once Leliana’s agents were engaged.

“I suppose you’re right,” Ingrid replied. “I’m going to check in with my crew. I do hope they’re playing nice with the others.”

“Worried my troops will be a bad influence?” Cullen retorted.

She shot him a sly grin. “Try the other way around.”

“Have you felt anything?” He glanced down at her left hand. If there were any rifts being opened nearby…

“No, nothing.” She held up her hand as proof, wiggling her fingers. “You’ll be the first to know, I promise.”

She marched off looking every bit their leader in her blood red battlemage coat and with her rune-enhanced staff gleaming on her back. The heeled boots she wore made her taller than she already was; that combined with her heavy black eye makeup made her an intimidating sight even to those that knew her well. Even Dorian had seemed deferential.

He felt a flicker of dread watching her walk away and quickly hardened himself. Right now he was a soldier, just as she was, and that’s all they could be until the last enemy lay dead at their feet.

“And now,” Fiona said, tapping her staff on the ground, “we wait.” She turned to Alistair. “Your Majesty, I would like to say something, if I may.”

Cullen had noticed her watching him quite often during their preparations. He imagined she must have a great distaste for the man after he kicked her out of Redcliffe, even though in his mind it was more than deserved. Even so, her apparent fixation on him made him uneasy. He had wondered more than once if he should keep them separated, but she was too critical to the operation, and Alistair clearly could handle himself.

The king sighed. “Fiona, if this is about Redcliffe, it’s done. There’s no need to discuss it further.”

“It’s not that, Your Majesty, although I do deeply regret my actions. I just wanted to say…” Fiona appeared distressed.

“Well? What is it?”

“I…you have become a good man, and a fine king. No matter what happens tonight, I am honored to…fight at your side.” She stared at him intently and moved a little too close. Cullen’s hand went to his sword, and he wondered why Alistair’s did not.

The king’s demeanor softened. “That’s, um, very kind of you to say. Thank you, Grand Enchanter.”

She lowered her gaze. “I should check on my people.” And with that, the mage disappeared into the field. Alistair gave Cullen a puzzled look and shrugged 

“That was…awkward,” Alistair said, “That woman is very strange. By the way, I’m a little disappointed you’re not wearing your furry pauldron thingy. You could really distract the enemy with it – while they’re trying to figure out just what it is, BAM, you run them right through.”

Cullen gave him a sidelong glance, returning his attention to the path. “I’m sorry to disappoint. However, your armor is quite impressive; the shield is a nice touch.”

“It was Duncan’s,” Alistair said more softly. “It’s the only one I ever use.”

“Oh, I’m, uh, sorry. Met him briefly at the Ferelden Circle. He seemed like a good man.”

“He was. The greatest man I’ve ever met.” Alistair sighed. “Anyway, enough of – oh. Oh wow.”

Cullen turned toward him. “What? What is it?”

In the distance seconds later, the horn sounded. The army had arrived.

“I can’t believe it; I can still sense them that far away.” Alistair rubbed his temples. “I thought, maybe after all these years--”

“How many darkspawn?” Cullen demanded.

“I can’t tell. It’s slight, but should get stronger the closer they come.”

“Tell us as soon as they at the top of the path,” Cullen commanded, “Don’t stop feeling for them.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice in the matter!” Alistair shouted over the din of soldiers barking orders and getting into position. Just then, Cassandra approached them.

“There, it’s one of Leliana’s birds!” she shouted, pointing to the sky. A single crow flew toward them and landed on Cullen’s outstretched arm. Quickly he pulled out the rolled up note as the bird flew off. Ingrid ran up behind them.

“Well, what does it say?” She asked.

“ _More darkspawn than red templars. Initial estimates low. All manner of weapons, some mages. No Corypheus Samson or dragon spotted._ Low? How low? What does that mean?” he growled.

“Kind of obvious about the dragon, am I right?” Alistair asked. “I mean, we would have seen that from here.”

“Even so, the confirmation is somewhat reassuring,” Cassandra replied. “Although, it could simply be on its way.”

“True, we must remain vigilant. But it’s doubtful, not without Corypheus.” Cullen tossed the note onto the ground and started toward his troops.

“Wait!” Ingrid snatched it from the grass. “There’s more writing on the back!” She unfurled it and read out loud. “ _A very large one looks like darkspawn, but talks_. _Apparent leader. Extremely lethal.”_

A brief silence fell over the group.

“This is not good.” Alistair said. “There were darkspawn like that at Amaranthine. They were serving another Corypheus-type, they called him The Architect. Somehow he was able to give some of them intelligence by giving them our blood. But the Warden-Commander killed them, along with the broodmother.”

“So maybe one of these ‘intelligent’ darkspawn survived and is now trying to get in the good graces of a new master by attacking us.” Ingrid said.

“No matter. It can still be killed.” Cullen unsheathed his sword and headed to the front line, the others following close behind him.

A recruit brought him his helm as he approached. He scanned the faces of the men and women before him; Iron Bull, Blackwall, Cassandra, Vivienne, Dorian, Varric and Solas all gave him slight nods of encouragement when his eyes met theirs. He looked upward the archers all along the bridge, all with bows at the ready and Sera shouting something while giving him a thumbs up sign. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to pride for what they had accomplished in such a short time, and honored to be commanding people who had chosen to fight for a cause in which they truly believed. Even so, this was no time to get sentimental.

“Inquisition!” he bellowed, quickly pacing the line in long strides, “The horn has sounded, the enemy is upon us. We have word there is a talking darkspawn leading them, be wary of its heightened intelligence. Focus on taking it down but do not be foolish! Do not let any of them reach the gate. Do not let down your guard. Avoid the darkspawn’s blood. Remember your training, your orders, remember where the stashes are, remember the healers, remember the fallback plan, and we WILL win this day."

“We have company!” Alistair blurted out from behind him. Cullen immediately looked to Blackwall, whose demeanor remained stoic. Before he could contemplate why, he heard guttural sounds bouncing off of the mountain walls that were getting louder by the second. Cullen donned his helmet and readied his shield, turning toward the path.

“Be ready!” he heard Cassandra cry from somewhere nearby. Ingrid came into his view on his right, looking at him with steely resolve before focusing ahead.

Then he saw them, running up the path with weapons drawn; darkspawn, moving much faster than he’d anticipated. Cullen realized he hadn’t actually seen one alive in close quarters before; they were horrifying creatures, all sharp teeth and beady eyes and bruised flesh wearing ill-fitting scavenged armor.

“Still just as ugly as I remember,” Alistair shouted, “It’s nice to know some things never change!”

The smell of lyrium filled his nostrils as the templars and mages readied themselves, but he didn’t even have time to thirst for it. All eyes were on him to give the signal.

Cullen raised his sword high above his head, and then everything happened at once.

Sera gave her command and arrows whizzed through the air from above, some of them in flames, sinking with a disgusting thud into darkspawn flesh and eye sockets. Ingrid shouted her battle cry, “FOR THE INQUISITION!”, slamming the blade of her staff into the ground as she cast a buffing spell around her and everyone nearby before running forward. He felt the energy surround him and heard the subsequent _whomps_ of the other magical barriers going up all across the field, and there was an electrifying roar from the soldiers as they charged.

Under the twilight sky, the clang of metal, the sizzles and crackles and whooshes of spells and the cries of combat echoed throughout the valley. The attack on Skyhold was underway.

Cullen targeted his first foe and charged. He swung wide, slicing through the darkspawn’s exposed flesh and turning to dodge the downswing of its axe. He turned back toward the monster and hacked into its neck, trying to avoid the spray of blood as he sidestepped the falling body.

“Nice!” he heard someone exclaim nearby. It was Alistair, who was pulling his sword from the gut of his own opponent on the ground. Just then Cullen saw an enemy rushing up on Alistair’s rear, but before he could warn him, the king spun his shield around with such power that he knocked the thing in the air onto its back, jammed his boot on its neck and stabbed it in the heart. The whole display had a brutal grace to it; Cullen couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Warden senses, remember?” Alistair yelled.

A ball of magical fire whizzed by Cullen’s face, missing it by mere inches. Seconds later it was followed by a charging mage, who was pummeling an emissary with fireball after fireball as it tried desperately to cast a spell.

“Sorry!” she yelled as she passed.

Cullen whirled around to see another darkspawn charging him; this one much larger than the last and bearing down on him with a battleaxe. He threw his shield up and knelt to absorb the tooth-rattling blow, then slashed at the beasts legs. It bellowed and raised the weapon for another attack when Cullen stabbed at its torso, rolling aside to avoid being pinned as it collapsed.

“Okay, I think that’s two for you, and I’ve already got four so, why didn’t you want me fighting again?” Alistair quipped as he hacked and slashed at another foe.

“Perhaps due to your lack of maturity? This is not a game, Alistair.” Cullen drove his sword into a screaming beast, pulling it free as the unholy noise died. “And I believe that’s three for me.”

“You know, I never wanted to fight darkspawn again as long as I lived, but if I have to, I’m glad it’s with you, Cullen.” Alistair smashed his shield into a darkspawn face before ending its miserable existence.

Cullen clashed swords with a foe before seizing an opportunity to stab it in the neck. “I’m flattered, really.”

“Where are these red templars I keep hearing about?”

“They’re coming. Don’t show off, you’ll need your strength later.”

“I just wanna get my hands on that talking fello. I may not have been there in Amaranthine but I’m here now!”

More darkspawn were streaming in, some taken down by arrows before reaching the fighting, and Cullen felt the ground quake under his boot. A red templar wasn’t large enough to cause something like that. He felt it again, stronger this time.

“Cullen, did you feel that? I have a bad feeling about this!”

Cullen dispatched another darkspawn and shouted back. “Yes, what is it?”

“There!” Alistair pointed. “An ogre! Shit!”

Cullen strained to see over the heads of everyone around him – and then he saw it, just the horns in the distance, almost two stories tall, lumbering closer. Unexpected, but battles rarely go as planned. Quickly he came up with a solution and ran to Alistair.

“Come with me, we’re going to take it out before it gets any closer.”

“Just the two of us? Are you sure?”

“We don’t have much choice, they outnumber us as it is and that thing could cause serious damage. And you know how to kill them. Now come!”

They slashed and dodged their way through the thick of the fighting, and they had almost gotten through when they saw the ogre being lured off to the side of the clearing by someone who was hurling magic at it, a tall mage wearing a blood red coat.

“Ingrid, NO!” Cullen screamed. “What is she thinking?” he yelled at Alistair, but before they could move any closer they were cut off by two hulking deformed humanoids with glowing crimson crystals jutting out from all angles of their hideous bodies. The red templars had arrived.

The things that had once been men – maybe even good men, but Cullen tried not to think about it – swung at him and Alistair, and Cullen was a split second too late in his dodge. The monstrous hand hit him in the head with full force, knocking his helm clean off and causing him to fly head over heels before landing in the dirt. He was blinded momentarily and had the wind knocked out of him but he stood anyway, something warm and wet trickling into his eyes. He tried to blink it away as his vision returned.

The demon beared down on him to attack again and he fought back with all his strength, mindful of his exposed head. At one point the demon’s razor-sharp claw caught his cheekbone, he could feel the flesh splitting in two. _Great, another scar_ , he thought deliriously. He couldn’t see or hear Alistair, he hoped he had made it to Ingrid’s side.

Cullen drew his sword back to make a killing blow to the red templar when its whole body frosted and iced over before his eyes, making a sickening crackling sound. He raised the sword high over his head and brought it down as hard as he could, shattering the being into icicles.

Behind where the red templar had been Fiona stood in a battle stance, giving him the barest of acknowledgments before moving onto the next foe.

He looked across the field; the ogre was still there, bellowing and fighting Ingrid and Alistair. She was circling, pelting it with spell after spell while Alistair was taunting it, blocking blows with his shield and slashing its flesh whenever he saw an opening. He appeared to be wounded in one leg from the way he was moving. Cullen had a clear path to them now.

He ran up behind the ogre and ran his sword across one heel, then did the same to the other. The thing roared and swung around to face him but he was too fast. He thrust his blade upward into its side all the way to the hilt, careful to avoid its flailing arms as he pulled his sword free and jumped backward.

When she was sure Cullen was free, Ingrid hit it with a full blast of electricity, and the beast had finally had enough. Its whole body convulsed and sparked as it fell over face down into the dirt.

They didn’t have a moment to celebrate; another roar bounced off of the mountain walls. Two more ogres were bounding up the path, followed by a group of red templars and a very large darkspawn.

“Where are these coming from? Why didn’t the agent tell us about _those_? Ogres are kind of hard to miss!” Alistair exclaimed.

Cullen noticed something out of the corner of his eye and looked up; a strange-looking bird circled low over the battlefield. It didn’t look like any bird he’d seen, with its purple and black feathers.

“That is no bird,” Ingrid said.

Cullen was about to ask what she meant when the bird landed not far from them. Just as the new group of enemies breached the battlefield, the animal began to glow green and rapidly grow while also changing shape.

The trio readied their weapons, even though something told him that this animal (or whatever it was) wasn’t a threat, and he suspected the others felt it as well.

It grew taller, and taller, and taller still, the wings becoming arms, the beak becoming tusks, the clawed feet becoming long legs. Before long a giant stood before them, at least twice the height of the ogres. It turned toward them, and Cullen could have sworn it bowed its head in greeting. Even from where he stood he could see its piercing eyes, they were the color of pure spun gold.

Alistair gasped. “Morrigan??!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please provide feedback in the comments, it really helps me keep pushing to complete this fic. And to those of you who do, you deserve all the nice things :). Still unbeta'd so any constructive crit is also appreciated, or corrections.


	7. Seven - Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has mixed feelings about Morrigan's arrival, and he and Josie unwind after the battle.

During all the commotion while they were preparing for the attack on Skyhold, Morrigan’s arrival had been completely forgotten.

“I’ve never seen any shape shifting like _that_!” Ingrid cried. “No wonder she’s on Celene’s court!”

If only Solona was here to see her old friend in action. She’d no doubt be impressed, and also jealous.

The giant that was apparently Morrigan lifted its mighty fists and smashed them down on several unlucky darkspawn that tried to take it down. The beast roared, reached over its shoulder and yanked an arrow from its back; one of theirs.

Cullen turned to Alistair. “Are you sure that’s Morrigan? Obviously it’s not a giant, but are we sure it’s friendly?”

“Well, I don’t know if I would call Morrigan _friendly_ , but-“

“Alistair!”

“Yes, yes I’m positive it’s her. I’d know those eyes anywhere. That magic has her scent written all over it.”

That was enough reassurance for Cullen. “Do not attack the giant!” he bellowed to any Inquisition forces that were nearby, making exaggerated hand signals for the archers high above. “I repeat, do not attack the giant!” He continued to shout orders as he disappeared back into the fray along with the Inquisitor.

Alistair watched his old – friend? no, rival was more like it – storm into the battlefield, shaking the earth and swatting down any darkspawn that came into her path. The ogres, thankfully, turned their attention to their new enemy.

The first one to reach her attacked with a giant club, which she easily caught with her enormous hands. Grabbing it by the arm, she swung the ogre into the second one behind it, causing them to fly backward and crushing several darkspawn underneath them.

Alistair needed to take down some more enemies – his leg was sprained, but it was nothing he couldn’t power through. Besides, it seemed like the tide was turning in their favor.

One of the ogres lay unconscious, the other was scrambling to its feet to go after the giant. Alistair ran over to the one on the ground, jumped on top of its chest, and saw its eyes fly open with rage just before he drove his sword deep into its heart.

He turned to see the giant/Morrigan ripping apart a red templar and throwing the pieces at the attacking ogre, then watched as she jumped into the air and brought her fist down onto the ogre’s face, shattering the bones with a sickening crunch. Alistair rushed to her side.

“I never thought I’d be glad to see you!” He shouted, slicing an attacking darkspawn nearly in two while she stepped on another. “I thought, that is the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen – it _has_ to be Morrigan!”

The giant growled and peered down at him, the bright golden eyes narrowing into slits. Oh, it was Morrigan, all right. Alistair felt entirely too pleased that she was unable to retort given her current state, and wished he’d had more time to take full advantage.

“You focus on taking out the rest of them, I’ve got to find their leader!” He looked around, the thing was nowhere in sight.

He moved through the field for a few moments before realizing he hadn’t been attacked. He surveyed the ground around him; it was littered with more dead darkspawn than soldiers.

“There you are!” someone shouted from behind him. It was one of the Chargers – Krem, he recalled. “Come with me, they’ve got him cornered!”

Alistair followed the warrior to a far corner of the valley, and saw Ingrid, Cullen and the rest of the companions circled around the darkspawn leader. The wretched thing was on its knees and gnashing its wall of blackened teeth, weakened by some sort of spell being sustained by Vivienne. All weapons were trained on the beast, and balls of fire and ice danced in the palms of Ingrid and Solas. Dorian raised a dead darkspawn nearby to fight for them, just in case.

“Are you mad?” Cullen was saying. “No! Absolutely not! The risk is too great!”

“It would be locked up! Besides, the potential reward far outweighs any risks.” Ingrid argued.

“What are we waiting for?” Blackwall demanded. “We should kill it and be done with it!”

“You are all cowards!” the thing spat, its gravelly voice setting Alistair’s teeth on edge. Blackwall responded by pressing the tip of his blade into the sickly pink flesh just under its ear.

“It could have information,” Cassandra said, sounding unsure, “Information we could use.”

“I agree with the Seeker and the Inquisitor,” Solas urged. “Imagine what this creature could tell us – with the proper motivation, of course.”

“Torture, Solas? I didn’t think you had it in you,” Dorian drawled. “Frankly, I’m impressed.”

The monster growled.

Cullen’s eyes darted to Alistair before returning to the darkspawn. “Alistair, you have the most experience with these creatures. Is it worth keeping this filth alive for questioning? Is it too dangerous?”

Like Cullen, Alistair’s first instinct was to drive a sword clean through its eye, but Solas had a point. What sorts of secrets could this thing tell them, not just about Corypheus, but about darkspawn in general? Arch demons and blights? The parts of the Deep Roads where nobody dared to tread? As far as he knew, no one had ever captured an intelligent darkspawn alive.

“I can help,” a voice said from behind him. Alistair whirled around to find that strange boy with the enormous hat, Cole, staring blankly ahead.

“I told you, not a good idea to do that in a battle, kid,” Varric said, “People are jumpy enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry. But I can help. It’s loud in there, misshapen, but I can focus, hear it better, in the quiet.”

Alistair didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about, but everyone else seemed to.

“I despise having to say it, but this might be the one good thing this _Cole_ is good for. I am never one to pass on gaining knowledge for the greater good.” Vivienne intensified her spell, causing the creature to slump over.

“As long as this thing doesn’t have any red lyrium on or in it, might be worth arranging an exclusive interview.” Varric chimed in.

“If the mind tricks don’t work, just give me thirty minutes alone with it, boss,” Bull said. “I’ll get it to talk, guaranteed. You won’t want to know _how_.”

Alistair scratched his chin; he needed to decide quickly. “I’m not in love with the idea, but it does have some merits. You’d have to watch it day and night, and maybe keep it drugged or subdued magically in case it tried to call the others. But yes, it could be worth the information, for the Inquisition, for Ferelden, all of Thedas. Could potentially save many lives, and as King, I’ll give you full support. I’d get what you need out of it quickly, though. The longer it's alive, the bigger the risk."

“Agreed.” Ingrid said, looking around at her companions. “I guess we’ve got ourselves a war prisoner.”

“Fine. But for the record, I don’t like it, not one bit.” Cullen sheathed his sword and motioned for Iron Bull to give him his battleaxe. The Qunari handed it over with a puzzled look, and they all watched as the Commander swung the axe so that the flat side connected with the back of the creature’s head, knocking it completely unconscious.

“Impressive, but I think I could have handled that,” Bull said.

“With your strength you might have caused brain damage, or killed it, then it wouldn’t be much good for interrogating, would it?” Cullen snarked, tossing the weapon back to Bull. “I’ll go round up some men to arrange transport. Hopefully we have restraints big enough to hold it.”

Just then, a horn sounded. Once, twice, then three times. The victory signal.

Cheers erupted all around them. The battle was over, they had successfully defended Skyhold. Thanks, in no small part, to their giant friend with the golden eyes.

****

Three royal guardsmen had given their lives to defend the Inquisition. While Alistair grieved for them, he knew that they had fought bravely and willingly. His heart felt even heavier when he thought about the letters he’d have to write to their families. He didn’t envy Cullen, who was still in the valley counting the dead by torch light.

Alistair entered the inner gate, the very same one he had walked through three days ago, when he had marveled at the Inquisition’s fortress and expected his visit to be full of boring political maneuvering. Even though the hour grew late, braziers and torches lit every corner of the keep; nobody would be going to sleep anytime soon. People either scurried or lumbered past, some assisting the injured to be treated by the healers in the temporary infirmaries. Soldiers were being cheered on by the civilians that stayed behind. Mages chugged healing potions and clapped each other on the back for a job well-done. Herald’s Rest was quickly filling up with freshly bandaged troops that were looking for a stiff drink to celebrate surviving another day. Spirits were up, but not so high as to dishonor those who did not survive.

People around him stole furtive glances at the now heavily-guarded prison entrance. Even though he couldn’t hear the whispers, he could guess what was being said. He hoped they had made the right decision.

“So,” an annoyingly familiar voice sang from behind him, “Is that how you always treat those who help you in times of need? Or do you just save that particular brand of spite just for me?”

Alistair turned to face Morrigan in her human form - if that's what she truly was - feeling some of his waning energy return.

He pretended to ponder her questions. “Um, I’ll go with the second option.”

The apostate turned Arcane Advisor crossed her arms and glared at him. She wore the same clothing (if you could call strategically placed strips of cloth and leather _clothing_ ) and she hadn’t aged a day since he’d last seen her at the Battle of Denerim. Whether that was due to magic or genetics, Alistair couldn’t be sure.

“My my, even as the King of Ferelden, after ten years, you still cannot let go of your petty hatred for me.” She sighed. “ ‘Tis not entirely unexpected of someone with such average intelligence, but disappointing, nonetheless.”

“Morrigan, relax. Even I don’t hate you that much. I was joking! Mostly.”

Her lips pressed together.

“Seriously. I thank you, truly. Had you not shown up when you did…you saved a lot of lives.”

She seemed satisfied with that. “Yes, ‘twas fortunate I arrived when I did. Although it appears that the Inquisition did what it could, given the circumstances.”

“I gave them pointers - you know, since we’ve killed so many of those things.”

“I presumed as much. I had hoped to go the rest of my life never seeing those blasted creatures again.”

Alistair snickered. “That makes two of us.”

He was very confused by what he was feeling at the moment - it was dangerously close to camaraderie, almost as if he was _glad_ to see her, and not just because she had saved their skins.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “So, how have you been?”

Alistair could almost feel the shock wave roll through her at being asked such a question. “Surely you’ve been briefed on my activities as of late? There is no need to waste time with idle chit-chat. I know you dislike me, as I dislike you. But we shall have to tolerate each other, as we once did, since we have a common goal.”

His anxiety subsided; _this_ was a dance he knew well. “I was just trying to be polite, but have it your way. So what common goal would that be?”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “To see the Inquisition succeed at defeating Corypheus, of course.”

“Alistair!”

Josie was running across the courtyard, calling out his name with a big grin on her face. Her hair was half in a bun, half loose, and she was still wearing her old battle leathers, taken out of retirement for the attack. In her hands she carried her ever-present clipboard.

She stopped short when she noticed Morrigan.

“Lady Morrigan,” Josie said, catching her breath. “Welcome! I - I am so glad you made it safely. I must apologize. Even though we of course knew you were coming, with everything that has happened, we are unable to receive you properly. I am sure you can understand.”

Translation: oops, we all completely forgot about you as soon as we found out that we might die on this mountain.

“‘Tis quite alright, Lady Ambassador. I did not expect a grand reception. I am pleased Skyhold weathered the attack. Now, if you would kindly direct me to my quarters, I would be much obliged. It has been a long journey, and I am weary.” Morrigan’s time spent at court was showing; she could almost pass as a noble.

Josie glanced nervously at Alistair; he could see her mind working as she spoke. “Actually, we may have a _slight_ problem in that regard. It was deemed too dangerous to let any guests leave as the horde approached Skyhold, therefore many who were due to depart before your arrival are, in fact, still with us. And any spare cots and tents are being used for the wounded.”

Morrigan’s eyebrow shot up. “‘Tis unfortunate, Lady Montilyet, but I hardly understand what that has to do with me.”

Alistair seized the opportunity. “Josie, you’ll have to forgive Morrigan. You see, with her _average intelligence_ , it’s hard for her to grasp certain concepts.” He turned to a scowling Morrigan and spoke loudly and slowly. “There. Are. No. More. BEDS!”

“Alistair, really!” Josie scolded, but there was amusement in her eyes. “Lady Morrigan, I do apologize for the inconvenience. If you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, it would only be for one night, until our guests begin to leave in the morning.”

Morrigan clasped her hands together. “I do not mind. I understand you have bigger concerns, and there are people who suffered a far worse fate here tonight.” She looked around her. “Where is Leliana? She being a woman and also someone with whom I am familiar.”

“I’m afraid Sister Leliana sleeps on a modest cot in the rookery.”

“Ah, yes. We all know the Maker and his bride wouldn’t want their disciples to be too comfortable.” Morrigan replied.

Alistair had an idea - a possibly inappropriate one - and blurted it out anyway. “She can have my room.”

Morrigan shot him a withering look. “I would sooner sleep in the stables amongst the piles of horse dung than share a bed with you.”

“Ouch. No, I mean, you can have it to yourself. I will stay...well…uh, somewhere else.” Alistair looked at everything around him except Josie. The ambassador cleared her throat.

His heart sank when he saw Morrigan looking between the two of them, a small smile spreading on her normally dour face.

“Lady Montilyet - or may I call you Josie? Seems as if you two are on a first-name basis already. Very cozy, indeed. The king’s quarters shall be more than sufficient.”

Morrigan looked at Alistair, and even in the dim light of the braziers he could see her eyes sparkling with glee. “Although, I know not where he shall sleep, since you’ve made it _very_ clear there are no beds left.”

Josie exhaled. “Good, it’s settled. Now if you’ll excuse me, there is much to do.” She gave Alistair a pained look.

He heard the fatigue in her voice; she may not have been on the front lines, but she had been working just as hard as any fighter, perhaps even more so. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, to kiss her, to bury his face in the crook of her neck, but he couldn’t. Not with that witch staring at them with growing delight.

 _Morrigan._ Any positive thoughts he had about her earlier were quickly fading.

“I will find you later. To, um, debrief.” he said to Josie, and cringed. Maker, how did he manage to make _that_ sound naughty?

She nodded, biting her lower lip - to keep from laughing or crying from exhaustion, he didn't know - and then she was gone.

Alistair sighed and looked at the smirking mage.

She gestured toward the main hall. “After you, _Your Majesty_.”

****

They said very little to each other after that. He thought Morrigan might have brought up Solona, given that they were close, but he imagined she was just as tired as he was. He deposited his greaves, helm and weapons, and gathered some of his things from his room before leaving to help himself to some of the food that was laid out in the main hall. He was blessedly alone now, having instructed his remaining guards to assist the Commander with whatever he might need.

Alistair chewed slowly and tried to decompress, letting his mind wander. Luckily the others in the hall seemed much too tired to start a conversation or even acknowledge his presence. He hadn’t seen the Inquisitor, Cullen or her companions since he left the valley. The plan was, if they were victorious, that the deceased would be tallied and they would convene in the war room at dawn for a debriefing. From what he could see, that number thankfully wasn’t very large. Perhaps the couple had retired to the Commander’s quarters; less people to walk through that way, less questions to answer.

After steadying his nerves with a mug of mead, he headed to Josie’s quarters, using the longer, more private route she had shown him. It was only last night that they fell fast asleep in each other’s arms, but it felt like an age ago, his arrival an eon. Alistair had been presumptuous and imposing by assuming he could stay here again, but he had a feeling it was a safe gamble. Might as well put his room to use, even if it was for a harpy like Morrigan. And she _did_ cement their victory.

He snapped out of his dithering and knocked on her door. Not a moment later, Josie appeared in the doorway.

She was wearing a sleeveless gown in the most brilliant shade of jade he’d ever seen. The satin material extended slightly past her shoulders and dipped down into a modest v-shaped neck, clinging to her body until it flared out just below her hips and sweeping across the tops of her bare feet. Her hair was still damp and pulled over one shoulder, her freshly scrubbed skin glowed in the candlelight. A clean floral scent wafted from her when she moved.

Her eyes betrayed her weariness, but any remaining doubts about whether he should be there vanished when she smiled.

“I hoped it was you. Please, do come in.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He stepped into the room; there were lit candles on every surface.

“I was half expecting it to be the Inquisitor.” She shut the door behind him and slid the lock into place.

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Although I can’t say that I’m not intrigued.”

Josie clucked her tongue. “You are wicked! She will come here sometimes to talk after a difficult day. But I imagine she is with Cullen.”

He held up the change of clothes he’d been carrying. “”Er, I hope you don’t mind, I would really like to change. Maybe sponge off a little, get some of this darkspawn goo off of me. If that’s too inappropriate, I can-”

She glided over to him; he watched her muscles undulate underneath the fabric. “Alistair, please. Of course you would want to clean up. I took the liberty of drawing a bath; please, help yourself. I hope you don’t mind that I already used it.” She took his clothes and carefully draped them over the privacy screen.

“No, of course I don’t mind. Thank you.” He peered around the intricately carved wood; sure enough, the tub was filled with water and scented oil. He stuck his finger in; still warm. He found the idea of bathing after her inexplicably appealing.

“Good,” she said cheerfully, “Now, let’s get you out of this armor, shall we?”

“Oh, that’s okay, I can manage it.”

“Really? You don’t have people helping you get in and out of this?”

“Well...alright, I guess I do. I just don’t want to put you out. I feel like I already imposed myself enough on you.”

She lightly touched his face. “You are very sweet. It is not an imposition at all. Now hold still.”

Josie proceeded to undo the various buckles and straps that held on his plate armor, methodically moving around him from section to section and placing each piece on the ground as she freed them. Alistair watched her elegant fingers at work, inhaling her scent and, since she wasn’t looking, watching her perfect breasts heave with each breath.

“There,” she said when he was down to his inner layers, “All done. You should get in the bath before it goes cold, yes?”

“Right. I guess I can take it from here, then.” He wanted to move, but he found himself rooted to the spot. He noticed that her nipples had become erect underneath the satin gown. He looked away, but unbidden visions danced in his head of what he might do with them.

She didn’t seem to notice. “Go on! Shoo!”

Alistair snapped out of it and went behind the screen, practically ripping off the rest of his clothes once he thought about how good the water would feel on his filthy skin.

“Take your time,” she called out to him. He heard the rustling of papers. “I have plenty of work I can finish.”

He stepped into the tub and groaned at the pleasant sensation as he lowered his now aching body into the warm water.

She giggled. “That good? I imagine you must be weary. I must thank you again for coming to our aid.”

He thought about the men he’d lost, and those the Inquisition had lost, but he decided to keep it to himself. They deserved a small respite, and there would be time to honor the dead come morning.

“It was the least I could do. Ugh, I feel like I was smashed by a bloody ogre.” He grabbed a clean cloth from the table nearby and proceeded to scrub himself.

“Well? Weren’t you?”

“More like swatted, really. Still killed it, though.” Shamefully, he didn’t mention Morrigan’s involvement. He would be sure to sing her praises tomorrow during the debriefing. He continued to clean every inch of his body as quickly as possible before the water cooled.

“I couldn’t help but notice you were limping,” Josie said after a few minutes, her voice sounding closer. “Are you alright?”

“It’s just a sprain, I think. I’m fine.”

“If you’ll allow me, I’m quite the masseuse. In my days as a bard, I healed many a chevalier’s pulled muscle or sprained ligament with just my fingers.” She was just on the other side of the screen. “May I?”

Alistair looked at the water; it was clouded with just enough dirt to hide anything submerged in it. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble. Who am I to turn down a beautiful woman putting her hands on me?”

“Flatterer. You will not regret it.” She moved around to his side of the screen and perched herself on the end of the tub near Alistair’s feet. She was carrying a small amber vial of oil, and she dabbed some onto her palms before furiously rubbing them together. He noticed her eyes scanning his upper body. He may or may not have flexed his pectorals for her benefit.

She returned her attention to the task at hand. “Which leg?”

He lifted his right leg just above the water’s surface. She placed his wet foot on her lap.

“Where does it hurt?”

Sheepishly he pointed at the spot just below his knee. Instantly she went to work, gliding her oiled hands across his flesh and kneading deep into the knotted muscle. He jerked a bit from the pain when she dug in.

“Try to relax. That means it’s working.” she soothed.

Alistair closed his eyes and leaned back, listening to the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the bathtub and trying not to think about what she might look like if she wasn’t wearing that gown. With each stroke of her soft, strong hands, the pain subsided, until it was only a dull memory.

He opened his eyes and flexed his leg. “That’s amazing. Where did you learn to do that?”

“I had a very good teacher. She was an expert at massage - among many other things.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

Alistair’s cheeks burned when she covered her mouth and laughed. “Oh. I, uh, I see.”

“You are too much.” She rose from the tub and handed him the fluffiest, largest towel Alistair had ever seen. “I shall let you have your privacy. The water has gone cold.”

Alistair felt like a new man as he dried himself off. He wondered what might happen once he moved to the other side of the screen; what she might want, what he definitely wanted. For the first time in so long he felt like he could actually truly care for, even love, another, but he was terrified of fouling it up somehow.

“Listen, Josie,” he called out to her, “I know we got off to a strange start last night, and inviting myself here tonight wasn’t exactly a step in the right direction, probably, but I’d still like to court you. Properly. Romantic dates, flowers, all that sappy stuff. I don’t know how it would work with me living in Denerim, but between the two of us, I’m sure we could figure something out.”

He finished dressing and came around the screen.

“So, what do you say to – oh.”

Josie was slumped over her desk, her cheek resting on a pile of paperwork. She was fast asleep.

Alistair smiled to himself. He pulled down the coverlet on the ornate bed before approaching the desk. Very carefully he lifted her out of the chair, watching her face closely to make sure he didn’t wake her, and set her down softly on the bed. He pulled the covers up to her shoulders, giving them a light pat before going around the room and blowing out all of the candles.

He slid under the covers next to her as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She lay on her back, not quite snoring but breathing very deeply. Alistair propped himself up on one elbow and watched her. He found himself wanting to do _something_ for her, she had taken such good care of him, and she had worked so tirelessly to take care of everyone in the keep, often doing thankless tasks. Perhaps he could awake first and bring her breakfast in bed, or give her a morning massage? He didn’t think he’d make a very good masseuse; he certainly couldn’t compare to her. Gathering and carrying food?  That, he could handle.

Suddenly she whimpered in her sleep and turned toward him with shudder, curling into a ball. He scooted forward and embraced her, running his hand in slow circles on her back and carefully sliding his bicep underneath her head. She settled, and Alistair felt himself drift off to sleep, the events of the day finally catching up with him.

He awoke sometime just before dawn to find Josie looking back at him.

He propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

She smiled, shook her head, and reached up to caress his face.  He watched in awe as her free hand slowly traveled over one perfectly round breast.

Suddenly, he was wide awake.

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

Alistair’s hand hovered, waiting for permission. She nodded ever so slightly, and his hand replaced hers on the soft flesh. He ran his thumb a few times across her nipple, feeling it harden instantly underneath the slick satin. His length began to stiffen as he leaned down to kiss her.

She arched into his touch and pulled on his shoulders until he rolled on top of her, careful to support himself on one arm. His other hand traveled downward and tugged at her gown until it was raked up to her thigh so he could nestle himself between her legs. Her hands slid through his hair, down his neck and across his back, the kisses coming fast and hot. Alistair ran his hand up and down her soft thigh, going a little bit higher each time, until he realized he was feeling nothing but flesh where he should be feeling small clothes.

 Suddenly he wasn’t sure he should continue. Reluctantly he pulled away from her lips.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

She cradled his face in her hands before running them across his chest and shoulders while she studied his face. 

“I know you’re a man of honor, and despite how this may look, I didn’t plan to seduce you. It has been…quite some time, if you catch my meaning.”

“But, you’re, um, not wearing…”

She smiled, running her finger down the bridge of his nose. “Antivans never sleep in their smalls.”

Alistair remembered Zevran telling him that once, during one of the many entirely unsolicited conversations about the assassin’s sex life. The elf would have been beside himself with joy if he knew that Alistair was thinking of him now, while he was in bed with a beautiful woman.

“I desire you, my king,” she purred.

“Well, technically I’m not _your_ king, since you’re Antivan – ”

Her fingers danced over his lips, gently shushing him. He really needed to learn when to shut up.

“Oh, right.” He wanted to show her that he really _was_ capable of being saucy. His tongue darted out, tasting the tips of her digits before snatching a couple gently with his teeth. She rolled her hips underneath his in response, causing a delicious friction.

He groaned softly and captured her face in his palm, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. She claimed it in her mouth and suckled softly while staring into his eyes – the sensation of her tongue caressing his thumb, showing him what she could do, the noise, all of it was making him breathless.

She released his thumb with a soft pop, and when she spoke, her voice was sex incarnate.

“It is quite simple. If you want to wait, I shall wait. If you want me, then take me.”

He realized then that _this_ was something he could do for her. He could relieve her stress, please her, reward her for all the hard work she does for the Inquisition day in and day out, and he would relish every moment of his efforts. Yes, he wanted to court her like an ordinary gentleman, but who was he kidding? Nothing about either of their lives was remotely ordinary. They were two consenting adults with crazy lives seeking a connection, emotionally and physically.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned, his nervous energy channeling into something entirely different. This would be _much_ better than breakfast in bed.

“Call me your king again.”

She did, over and over, and Alistair worked very hard to ensure he was deserving of that title.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter rather quickly and after many many rounds of editing, called it done.  
> As always - thoughts for future story beats, suggestions, feedback comments are welcome and dearly treasured. Should I ship someone with the darkspawn general? KIDDING, of course.


	8. Eight - Cullen

_Later_ , he reminded himself, _there will be time later_. To honor those who he’d lost during yesterday’s battle; the men and women who laid down their lives for the Inquisition. They will be given proper honors, Josie will make sure their next of kin are notified and recompense is sent. There will be time later to revel in the fact that Ingrid had survived, to hold her in his arms and make love to her, to fully appreciate that she hadn’t left his side, at least not yet. Last night it was all they could do to get their armor off before collapsing into his bed, their bodies too battered, and every second of the day since sunrise had been claimed so far.

At the moment, the most important task at hand was to interrogate the darkspawn leader they had shackled up in Syhold’s prison. Cullen was in accord with Alistair; the sooner they got the information they needed out of this beast, the sooner they could be rid of it.

His strides were long and brisk as he walked through the hall after the war council debriefing with Alistair and Leliana at his side. The King had insisted on being a part of the proceeding since it was also in Ferelden’s interests to glean information from the creature about darkspawn activity, and Cullen had no cause to disagree. Ingrid had much to discuss with Morrigan and decided she’d be satisfied with a thorough report.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t fetch the Qunari?” Alistair asked. “He seemed keen on this sort of thing.”

“Almost too keen, for my liking,” Cullen replied as they stepped out of the main hall into the morning light. “As much as I might want to see that thing dead, I’d prefer to avoid torture.”

Leliana hummed. “So how do you propose we learn what it knows, Commander? Ask it nicely? Why don’t you allow me to handle this, it is my area of expertise.” She quirked an eyebrow and tapped her hip sack. “I’ve even brought my special tools. They have proven successful against even the most stubborn foes.”

“No, that’s not creepy at _all_.” Alistair eyed her warily.

Cullen was tired, his face hurt underneath is fresh scar and his head was throbbing where the red templar had struck him, but he still managed to stay level. “With all due respect, Sister Nightingale, this is my prisoner captured on my field of battle, and we’ll do this my way. If it doesn’t work, then he’s all yours.”

She nodded in deference. “As you wish.”

The soldiers at the prison entrance saluted as they approached.

“Status report?” Cullen barked.

“We set everything up just as you asked, ser. The creature stirs every so often. It only sleeps for a short while, we’ve had to rotate the mages out more often than anticipated.”

“Good. We’re going in to question the prisoner. No one else is to be allowed in.”

“Yes, sir!”

Cullen opened the door to the prison and descended the stairs with Alistair and Leliana following close behind.

The darkspawn – a hurlock, according to Alistair - was slumped over in the center of the room, shackled and chained to a column and guarded by a handful of soldiers. They hadn’t bothered with a cell, there wasn’t enough space for what he had in mind and moving the creature was too troublesome and risky. An assortment of tools had been placed in a neat arrangement on a table with some rags and a bucket underneath. He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t need any of those things but it was better to be prepared.

Cullen felt that something was amiss, then he spotted an exhausted looking mage sitting limply on the floor in the corner, staring blankly ahead with several empty bottles of lyrium scattered around him. Panic flared as he ran over to his side.

“Maker, are you all right?” Cullen crouched next to him and examined his ashen face. Then, the smell hit him. Even in this darkened corner, every one of Cullen’s senses honed in on the drops of lyrium that remained inside one of the bottles, that unmistakable sharp metallic scent, the brilliant blue practically glowing to his hungry eyes, the sound of it singing his name. His salivating tongue flicked across his upper lip before he forced himself to concentrate on the elf in front of him.

“It’s too strong but…I’ll be fine.” The elven mage barely had the strength to get the words out. Cullen bloomed with rage; this man clearly wasn’t very powerful or experienced. Who authorized him to be here? He would be having some words with the Grand Enchanter later.

Before Cullen could speak, Alistair was shouting at the guards. “Andraste’s ass, are you all blind or just incredibly stupid? How could you just leave him like that? Can’t you see something’s wrong with him?”

The female guard stammered. “Your Majesty, we didn’t know, we thought maybe that was normal for them. His spell worked, the creature slumbers. See?” She gestured to the beast, as if none of them had noticed it.

“I’ll get him to Fiona and find another mage.” Leliana helped him to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” the elf sputtered, “I just wanted to help. It’s my fault.” The two of them disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

Cullen moved in so close to the guard his nose was almost touching the brim of her helm, his breath shooting from his nostrils like an angry steer. She stood at attention, staring straight ahead and trembling.

“You thought that was _normal_? Have you learned _nothing_ from my training?” He looked at the rest of them with disgust. “Mages are never supposed to work themselves to collapse, not unless it’s a life or death situation. It is your job to watch their back, just as they should watch yours! They are not some tool to be used up! Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they replied, almost in unison.

“Now wait outside, I’ll deal with you later. We’re questioning the prisoner.”

“Yes, leave, and think about what you’ve done!” Alistair added.

Cullen glared at him. “I have this under control, thank you.” He sighed, watching them scuffle out the door. “Clearly more training is in order.”

A loud snort came from behind them. They turned around to see the darkspawn leader’s eyes opening and closing slowly, smacking its terrible jaws together and grunting. Just about every inch of the thing was covered in dirt or caked blood. A terrible stench wafted from that direction.

“Looks like we were just in time,” Alistair quipped, pinching his nose. “I would have _liked_ to have forgotten what they smelled like.

The hurlock appeared to be slowly waking up. It took a few sharp breaths, nostrils flaring in and out, like an animal sniffing out its prey. With each inhalation its eyes opened wider, until it raised its grotesque head and fixed its beady black eyes on Alistair.

The darkspawn grinned, revealing long rows of jagged black teeth.

“You…” it croaked. “Greeey Wardennn.”

“Good morning,” Alistair said cheerfully, “So sorry to wake you.”

Behind them Solas and Leliana entered the prison.

“Good, you’re here,” Cullen said. “Shall we begin?”

They all nodded. Alistair drew his dagger.

“Commander, what do you wish of me?” Solas asked politely, as if he was asking what his favorite color was. Of course, Solas would never really ask him such a frivolous question.

“Just be ready to cast, in case it tries anything.” He moved closer, drawing the short sword he’d brought for the occasion. It was much better for jabbing at close range.

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure his plan would work. He could never find the boy using traditional methods, so he simply thought _at_ him, or tried to.

_Cole, I need your help, wherever you are. In the prison. Now! Er, please?_

“Um, what are you doing?” Alistair asked in a low voice after an awkward silence. Cullen realized he’d closed his eyes and felt a little foolish.

The darkspawn chuckled, a bone grinding sound that he never wanted to hear again. “You going to cut me? Poke me? I don’t fear pain.” It nodded at Alistair. “Grey Warden knows.”

Cullen cursed to himself. The kid, spirit, whatever, he was always showing up at the worst possible times, but when you actually needed him-

There was a unsettling sucking sound behind the darkspawn, and a great big hat came around the column.

Cole’s eyes were shrouded by the brim of his hat as he spoke in his ominous way. “It comes from man. They all did.”

“So that’s your game,” Leliana remarked to Cullen. “Is it even possible?”

The chains clinked against the stone as the darkspawn uttered a low growl, still apparently groggy from the sleeping spell.

“Cole, I need you to stay here in this spot until I tell you to leave, and listen to this creature, very hard. Can you do that?” Cullen implored, careful to keep his voice neutral. The boy’s behavior had become even more unpredictable since he had let go of his human side.

The spirit lifted his head. “It’s not hurting, but it’s evil. I need to hear, to help.”

“You were able to hear Corypheus, do you remember? Are you able to do that again?” Cullen prodded.

“Yes.” He paused and stared ahead with his watery eyes. “Bits, pieces. Like looking through flames, flickering, shimmering.”

“The creature is likely still affected from the spell,” Solas interjected. “Perhaps I can dispel it, allow Cole to read him more clearly.”

Cullen opened his mouth to reply.

“Do it,” Alistair demanded, glaring at the monster.

Cullen shot him a look.

“What?”

“My prisoner, remember?” Cullen felt ridiculous as soon as he said it, but between Leliana’s bloodlust and the King bossing around his soldiers he was starting to lose his patience.

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll just be…over here, observing.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Solas.”

A blue flash of light illuminated the darkspawn’s skull. As soon as it abated, the thing jerked and snapped its eyes open, fully awake now. Immediately it began testing the restraints, roaring and pulling the chains tight against the stone. Cullen took a battle stance, remembering how these were the only shackles large enough to fit and they had been in bad shape with spots of rust and rot. They would hold, but not forever. Alistair and Solas followed his example.

“Cole…” Cullen warned. The boy said nothing but appeared to be concentrating, his large blue eyes darting back and forth.

“You know, it’s kind of funny, if you think about it,” Alistair mused, as if they had all the time in the world. “I mean, here we have a darkspawn that can actually talk, but we have to resort to mind reading. I mean, I know why we do, this thing isn’t afraid of pain or dying, but it’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

“He will accept me. I failed this but I can give him an army…” Cole paused and took a couple of steps closer to the darkspawn. It snarled at him in anger and what passed for eyebrows on its face shot up.

“It’s afraid,” Cullen said to no one in particular, then realized he’d forgotten parchment and charcoal. He turned around to find that Leliana was already on it, jotting on a small piece of paper she had presumably pulled from her pack.

“No! Stop that!” it shouted, rocking back and forth more violently in its chains.

“An army by the sea, growing, to serve him and he will thank me, he will take me with him. He will have to, he must. I have waited for so long, so long.” Cole’s head ticked to the side. “She will be his.”

“Oh Maker, not again,” Alistair moaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Arrgh, foul demon! You all will die when he returns to his rightful place!” Suddenly the darkspawn rammed its head violently against the stone behind it with a sickening crunch, causing dust and crumbles of stone to fall from the column.

“No!” Cullen shouted as he lunged forward. He and Alistair managed to grab the beast by the neck but they were too late. It gnashed its teeth one last time before it slumped over, its wicked life force gone. They let go and backed away to avoid the black blood running down its neck.

“Damn!” Cullen cried. “Cole, did you hear anything else?”

“He waited for so long, but something else matters more. You mustn’t find her.”

This was the most coherent Cole had been in months. Cullen tried to keep him talking.

“Find who? Who is her?”

“Breathing, pulsating, glistening in the dark, eyes that run black. She held on longer than most. The flowers didn’t bloom that year.”

_And there it goes_ , Cullen thought.

“Cole, it’s very important you try and focus,” Solas said firmly.

Cole just stared and twiddled his fingers. “No more. I am sorry. I hope I have helped.” There was a light pop and he was gone.

"It seems my assistance is no longer needed. If you need anything further, you know where to find me." Solas left the room, presumably to go back to walking the Fade, as he was surely doing when Leliana fetched him.

“Well, I’ve written down everything Cole said, and the little comment our friend made before he left us.” Leliana rolled up the parchment and wrinkled her nose. “We can review it someplace more pleasant.”

Alistair paced the room. “There’s no need for that, I know exactly what it was talking about, and I know you do too, Leliana. Building an army? She, her? It’s a bloody broodmother, is what it is.” Alistair’s voice wavered on the edge of hysteria.

“A what?” Cullen had never heard of such a thing.

“Oh, you’ve never heard of a broodmother? Well, you’re in for a treat!” Alistair crowed much too loudly. “It’s a fantastic creature, really. Picture the ugliest woman you’ve ever seen in your life, now picture ten of her all stacked on top of each other and oozing all over, and you’ve pretty much got the idea. Just a joy to behold!”

Leliana stepped in. “What my friend here is trying to say is that it’s a woman, tainted and twisted to produce darkspawn.”

Cullen felt the throb in his head intensify, he’d need another draught of healing potion soon. By all accounts they weren’t amidst another blight yet they continued to encounter evidence to the contrary. “Do you think that’s what Cole heard?” he asked the spymaster.

“I’m afraid that’s the only thing that makes sense. The Grey Wardens have tried to wipe them all out, but with their dwindling numbers it's entirely possible they could miss one. We need to determine is where this broodmother is located and destroy it quickly. Just one can give birth to an army in a matter of weeks. It might be the one responsible for those that attacked Skyhold. We can only hope Corypheus does not yet know it exists.”

“Give birth? Maker preserve me.” Cullen looked back at the dead hurlock and rubbed his forehead. “I guess I never really considered how these things came into being.”

“Missed that day in blight class? Understandable; you had your hands full with abominations and insane templars. It’s certainly something I wish I could unlearn, or more importantly, unsee.” Alistair shuddered. “Now let’s get out of here, the smell is getting worse.”

Leliana spoke as they exited the prison. “I will work with my agents to determine the most likely location of this broodmother, and will inform you as soon as we have something. Warden Blackwall will want to hear of this.” Cullen observed her calm and collected demeanor as opposed to Alistair’s frenetic energy, even though they had experienced the horrors of the Fifth Blight together.

Once they were outside he instructed his men to clean up the mess, but not before taking the names of the guards who had ignored that poor mage. He’d have to think of a fitting punishment later, such negligence could not be tolerated. Nothing overly harsh, but something that would ensure they or any other soldier would not make that error in judgment again.

“And what of the head, sir?” one of the soldiers asked.

The ground crunched under his heel as he swiveled, desperately wanting to be done with this. “What of it?”

“We thought maybe you’d want it on a pike? As a reminder of our victory?”

Cullen’s jaw twitched, trying hard to remember that these soldiers were young, inexperienced and in some cases heard one too many exaggerated tales of war. “That’s an intimidation tactic, not a symbol of triumph. The Inquisition does not keep grotesque trophies. Burn the body. And Maker’s breath, do not let anyone come in contact with its blood.”

Cullen sauntered off and realized Alistair was still with him.

“Listen,” Alistair began, catching up, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you that you did excellent work defending the keep yesterday. I was proud to fight with you, and I know my guards didn’t give their lives in vain. I can understand all the fuss about your abilities as a commander.”

Cullen couldn’t resist, giving him a sidelong glance. “And you couldn’t before?”

Alistair went right along with the jest. “Seeing is believing! You know how stubborn men can be.”

Cullen stopped and rubbed his neck; compliments of any sort always gave him pause. “I was just doing my job, but thank you. For fighting with us, for…everything.” He tried to smile but even the muscles in his face were pushed to their limit.

“And I’m sorry if I lost it a bit down there, it’s just that this darkspawn business…I guess I thought that was all over for me, you know? The Fifth Blight was simultaneously the best and worst time of my life, except the worst bits keep resurfacing, rearing their ugly little heads. But I will help in any way I can.”

Cullen shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough. We can take it from here. You should go back to Denerim, your people need you.”

Alistair laughed. “For what? To settle disputes over which person’s property a fruit tree lies on? To entertain yet another arranged courtship? Bo-ring. No, whether I like it or not, darkspawn and broodmothers and evil magisters are my business too, and to be honest, I’m more comfortable fighting than I am perched on a throne. Sure, I’ll complain about having to kill things - maybe I'll complain a lot - but I always get over it. And I am still a Grey Warden, always will be.”

Cullen nodded, there was nothing more to say. The Inquisition certainly wasn’t in any position to turn down assistance.

There was a tap on his shoulder from one of his corporals; it was time for the memorial service to begin.

****

There was only one candle still holding on for dear life to the last vestiges of the wick when he crested the stairs to her quarters. He tried to see if she was in bed but he couldn’t quite discern anything in the dim light, and a solid sheet clouds hid the moonlight. Quietly he stepped over and placed his hand lightly over the covers. She wasn’t there but had been at some point, the sheets were pulled down and twisted yet cool to the touch. Where had she gone? Normally she slept quickly and deeply, and it was very late.

He blew out the dying flame and lit a couple of fresh candles, the new light revealing a trail of clothing leading to the privacy screen in the corner. His blood went cold. If she hadn’t heard him enter, and it was so quiet…

Cullen flew across the room to the tub behind the screen. She lay there fast asleep with her arms draped over either side, her head resting on her shoulder and her nose just barely above the water, and even in the half second he stood there he could see she was sinking. The candle had been burnt out long enough that the pool of wax had solidified.

He went to grab her by the elbows and lifted, shouting her name as soon as her head was clear of the water.

“Gah!” she gasped, still disoriented and twisting to look at him behind her. “What are you – unhand me that _hurts_!”

“I will not, you fell asleep!” His adrenaline was pumping hard, as if he was preparing for battle. He hooked his arms underneath her armpits and hoisted her out of the tub in one motion, an arc of water flying across the room from her legs. Once her feet were square on the ground he released her and she whirled on him, her eyes hard in the soft light.

“I didn’t mean to! You don’t have to be so rough! Maker’s hairy balls, Cullen!” She was fully awake now, her teeth chattering from the cool air and cold water.

He snatched up a towel and thrust it at her. “What should I have done? Gently sang you awake? I thought you were drowning!”

“Stop yelling at me, all right? I’ve slept in the tub before and nothing has happened. And it’s not like I do it on purpose!” She jerked the towel around her and stomped over to the wardrobe.

Cullen saw red. “You’ve done this before? Alone?”

“Yes, it’s _fine_ , Cullen. I wasn’t in danger of drowning. I don’t always need protecting, you know, I’m not a child!” She yanked a set of pajamas out of the drawer and pushed the drawer shut with a bang.

He clenched his hands into fists and stalked after her. “Are you quite sure about that? I just saw you, your nose was barely above water! What if I hadn’t arrived when I did? It only takes a little water to….how could you do something so reckless, so…so… _stupid_?”

She stopped getting dressed, and he saw the muscles in her shoulders constrict. He wished he hadn’t said it, but he was still so angry with her, it was such a frivolous thing, a pointless risk. Why didn’t she see that?

Ingrid was still topless as she advanced on him, stopping just short of his toes. For once, the sight didn’t excite him.

“Don’t you _ever_ call me stupid. Do you hear me?” Her voice was oddly calm and very low.

“I…I wasn’t…the act was stupid, not you. You know what I meant.” He raised his hands to touch her then stopped, letting them fall to his side. He could have cried right then from exhaustion and frustration and the surge of emotions, but he didn’t. He stepped away from her. “You survived, and then to find you like that…I might have overreacted.”

Her expression softened as she crossed her arms over her breasts and looked at the floor. “I can imagine that must have been troubling. You just shocked me is all. I think we’re both on edge right now. You know, the reason for the warm bath in the first place.”

Cullen breathed deeply, moving closer to her. “I understand, but you must know that sleeping in the tub is not wise, don’t you?”

“Like I said it just…happens sometimes. I won’t do it again.” She peered up at him, her arms still covering her chest. “I promise.”

They held each others gaze while time was measured in steadying heart beats, apologies went unspoken but were understood, forgiveness freely given with just an expression.

Gently he tugged at her arms and she unfolded them, her breasts spilling loose. She peered down at them.

“It’s cold in here.” There was mischief in that smile.

“I can see that,” he breathed, cupping a breast and thumbing the erect nipple lazily. He marveled at the effect she had on him as his loins began to stir. Mere moments ago sex had been the last thing on his mind, and now the idea was quickly consuming him. She made that little noise she always did when their intimacy escalated, the noise he liked to think he created. Slender hands unbuckled his armor straps while he lifted her breast and rolled the puckered flesh between his fingers. He reached up to help and she swatted his hand away.

“Back to your duty, soldier,” she commanded, and he obliged, teasing both breasts while she continued to unshackle him, because that’s exactly what it felt like whenever there was an imbalance of exposed flesh between them. When he was down to his trousers she backed away toward the bed, his cue to take care of the rest. She giggled and disappeared under the covers, and while he removed his boots a hand popped out holding her pajama bottoms and tossed them across the room.

He made a low warning sound as he pulled his second boot free.

“I won’t. That’s your job,” she teased, her voice slightly muffled.

He grinned while he hopped out of his breeches and smalls and kicked them off, feeling a second wind wash over him. Last night their bodies and spirits were too ground down to do anything but slumber, but not now. She clutched the covers up to her chin in mock modesty and laughed, forcing him to yank them down before kneeling before her on the bed.

It had become a little ritual of his to examine her after she returned from dangerous missions. Until lately he had been reserved in his verbal expressions, his little inspections had been his way of showing instead of telling.

Beginning with the tops of her feet, he ran his hands upward and curved them around her calves, planting a kiss on her knee. His hands traveled higher to caress her thighs; the skin was all perfectly familiar. Moving in next to her and bracing himself with one arm, his free hand swept up and down her arms and across her body, noticing the gooseflesh he was causing. Everything was perfect, even her old scars and the stomach she was bafflingly self conscious about. She seemed to want to play this game too and her hands roamed all over his in turn, pressing and tightening against his flesh every so often, sliding through his chest hair and across his back and as far as she could reach over his buttocks. She unknowingly encountered several nasty bruises that couldn’t be seen from her vantage point but he bared the brief pangs, not wanting to spoil the mood.

He leaned over and kissed her, her lips parting for him eagerly, her moan vibrating through his tongue as he tasted her, and finally his fingers found the waistband of her smallclothes.

“My job,” he murmured against her lips, and they both looked down to watch while he deftly slipped them off. A single blunt finger traced her seam and pressed slightly inward, the soaking heat not lost even on his heavily calloused skin. Her sharp breaths puffed against his neck, her stiff nipples rising and falling.

He rolled over so he completely covered her body with his, nestling himself neatly between her legs. She angled herself so his member slotted perfectly against her sex, and Cullen rumbled at the slick contact, stuttering forward against her sensitive nub – there was that little sound again, but he wanted it to be louder.

He shuffled down her body and pressed gently against her inner thighs, much lighter in color than the rest of her. He was in awe of the way that simple movement opened her up to him so perfectly, beads of moisture highlighting her folds, and he started leaking right along with her.

Just as his fingertips were pulling her apart, he felt her hands entrench themselves in his hair followed immediately by a breathtaking jolt of agonizing pain. Some kind of involuntary garbled shout escaped him as he jerked up onto his knees.

Ingrid shot up. “Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about your head!” She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him down into her arms, peppering his face with kisses.

His eyes fluttered shut when her lips passed over them, still grimacing as the pain subsided. “It’s all right, it’s just not completely healed yet. I’ve just been drinking potions, didn’t want to trouble the mages.”

She kissed the new scar on his cheek with extra care, ending her apologetic attack on his brow, holding her lips there for a moment before retreating. “I understand. So many had it much worse. I could try…”

“No. I’m fine. Truly.” She didn’t argue, they both knew she had been spending the day mending her own myriad of bruises with what little healing skill she had.

He let his head sink into her neck and they lay there for a moment, holding onto each other and thinking of the others in the Inquisition who weren’t as lucky as they were, not just the ones who died yesterday but all of them, at Haven and beyond. Just when the notion of losing her threatened to move to the fore of his mind, she hooked her legs behind his back and hugged him even tighter, nuzzling the space where his jaw and ear met as if she knew, and he was sure that she somehow did. He grasped her as tightly as he dared. He honestly thought then that he would be happy just lying like this, if that’s what she wanted.

He heard her sniffle against him and he pulled back to look at her. She was crying.

“Ingrid, what’s the matter? Please, don’t.” He swiped her tears on her cheeks with his thumb.

“No, you don’t understand,” she stammered, “I’m crying because I’m _happy_. I love you so fucking much, and you’re okay.” She smacked his chest with a light hand. “Damn you, Cullen Rutherford, what have you done to me?”

It was so incredibly endearing, he couldn’t help but smile. “I think we’re all a little emotional right now. You cry, I yank you out of bathtubs.” He kissed her on the nose while she chuckled. “I love you too, so fucking much.”

She looked at him as if he’d said something really inappropriate. “Somehow that word sounds weird when you say it.”

“Oh? So you’re the only one who can swear like a sailor around here?” His hand cradled her elegant neck and tickled the soft hair on the nape.

“Yes, and don’t you fucking forget it.”

Cullen watched as her expression shifted from playful to serious, pleading with an urgent need. He understood even before she shifted just so underneath him, and his arousal, which had only half subsided, roared to life. All he had to do was tilt his hips upward to angle himself and he found her, always so easy, so natural. A rasped breath hitched in his throat and she gasped, biting down on her trembling lip as he sank in inch by agonizing inch. For a minute he thought she might start to cry again from the way her eyes crinkled until he felt her fingers dig into his back and her heels press against his ass.

“Yes,” she hissed.

Their lovemaking was slow and deep, uncomplicated, quiet and affectionate. There were times where they would lose themselves in a kiss or he’d tongue her breasts while he stayed pressed inside of her, just barely moving. Even drawing away from each other felt like too much distance. He made sure she was first, he wanted to see and feel her come without the fog of his own climax getting in the way. It was both a selfless and selfish act.

He followed soon after and collapsed, crushing her lips in a sloppy, love-stoned kiss. He always had to remind himself that she was much stronger than most women her size and that she liked feeling his weight on her. His strong, beautiful, powerful battlemage who he loved so much it frightened him.

He started to pull his hips away from hers but she stopped him.

“No,” she sounded on the verge of sleep already, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him. “Stay right where you are.” And then, in a barely audible whisper, “Never leave.”

Cullen settled in, unable to think of any place he’d rather be. He thought about the mess they were lying in but found that he was too tired to care. He would have remained connected to her at all times if he could, and he snorted at the image his delirious mind conjured up. When she didn’t ask him what was so funny he knew she was already sound asleep. It wasn’t long before they were both drifting along somewhere in their own corners of the Fade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was waaay more explicit before I edited it down, and even now I'm wondering if it's too much or too gratuitous. I thought about not including a sex scene at all or just suggesting it, but these two really connect and emote at the end of the day when they're alone, especially after a traumatic event, and I wanted to show that. Commander and Inquisitor by day, Cullen and Ingrid by night.
> 
> Going forward I really want to get back to the whole reason behind this fic to begin with - Alistair and Cullen's friendship. Of course, we'll still see more of Alistair and Josie's burgeoning relationship, too.


	9. Nine - Alistair

That night Alistair dreamed of the Deep Roads. 

He had been fighting through the endless tunnels with Cullen, Ingrid and another faceless Grey Warden. The darkspawn were strangely easy to defeat, every foe falling from a single blow. After what seemed like miles and thousands of bodies later they reached their destination; a broodmother, larger than any he’d ever seen, the size of a small mountain and more gruesome than he’d thought possible.

Cullen had said something to him he couldn’t quite make out and charged, only to be crushed by a giant tentacle before he could strike. The Inquisitor screamed and pelted it with magic before meeting the same terrible fate. Soon only Alistair remained, all the fight leaving him as he dropped his sword, accepting his fate. A slimy tentacle whipped forth and slipped around his waist and neck, immobilizing him.

The twisted thing lifted him and Alistair was unable to look away from the grotesque hill of oozing flesh and drooping teats. When he had finally reached the top, even before the affront to nature turned to face him, when he saw the long matted black hair he knew, and he was already screaming before she said his name.

“Alistaaaiir, my loooove, how could you let them do this to meeeeee?” The broodmother that had once been Solona screeched, and that’s when he had snapped awake.

He wondered what it felt like to wake up slowly, sleepy and peaceful, like a normal person.

He dressed himself in what he liked to call his kingly garb, thankful to have his room back. Many visitors had left Skyhold and Morrigan moved elsewhere. He had thoroughly enjoyed Josie’s company – oh Maker, did he ever - but he was glad to have some time alone. Besides, it was probably wise to pull back the reigns a bit if they wanted to pursue a proper courtship. So far they had been doing things just a teensy bit out of order.

It was a curious thing, how the fade mashed everything that was on his mind together while he slept (save Josie, and thank the Maker for small miracles). He hadn’t been joking when he told Cullen he’d wished he could unlearn what he knew about broodmothers. The very idea of all those poor women being twisted against their will to serve such a vile purpose literally made him sick.

Alistair slurped his coffee – brought to his room bright and early with a few of his favorite pastries thanks to Josie – and realized there wasn’t any real agenda for the day. Since the attack the schedule the ambassador had prepared for him had become moot, now they were just waiting for Leliana to hone in on the broodmother’s location.

He couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. Alistair shared his old companion’s concern about the Wardens’ disappearance as of late if not her suspicion that they were somehow involved in the explosion at the conclave. Maybe he could help fill the void the order left behind; one never truly stops being a Grey Warden, after all. Well, unless you were a certain elf named Fiona, apparently.

He could discuss this whole business over with Warden Blackwall. If nothing else, he would really appreciate talking to someone who knew Duncan. The man had seemed standoffish but he was sure he could charm him into letting down his guard, and it would give him something to do besides bother Cullen.

Alistair wolfed down a couple of the baked goods before setting out to the stables.

****

“Warden Blackwall?” Alistair called out as he stepped inside the barn. There was no response. He examined the toy griffin on the table, running his finger along the grooves in the wood; it was quality work. A smaller version would be an excellent addition to his collection of action figures.

“Your Majesty?” a gruff voice called from the loft above, startling him.

“Hi there. I’m sorry to intrude but-” Alistair heard the unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice speaking in low tones and the creaking of wood planks above his head.

“One moment – be right down.” There was some grunting, as if he was struggling to put on clothes.

“I’ll just step outside – all the way outside - and face away from the barn. Come find me when you’re ready. Sorry to disturb you.” Alistair couldn’t help but smile as he stepped out into the sunshine, his back to the stable as he’d promised.

“Good morning,” he said as people passed and bowed. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

A fetching dwarf woman shuffled past him on his left, coming from the direction of the stable with strands of hay still poking out of her hair.

“Your Majesty,” Blackwall called. “You wanted to see me?”

Alistair reentered the barn, jerking his head in the dwarf’s direction. “She seems nice.”

“I, uh, yes, well…” The Warden cleared his throat.

“Sorry. I just wanted to chat. You’re a Grey Warden, I’m a former Grey Warden, things in common, right? I tried to talk to you the night I arrived but you disappeared on me.”

“Did you? Sorry, didn’t realize.” Blackwall scratched at his ear and walked over to the griffon, picking up his tools. “Hope you don’t mind if I work while we talk. Helps me think.”

“Not at all. I was admiring your work there, actually. Think you could make a small version? Like, you know, doll-sized? It’s for one of the children back at the palace.” He hastily added the last part.

“Think I could manage that,” Blackwall said as he started to chisel. “I’ll make sure to have it ready before you leave.”

“Excellent.” Something about this man was making him uneasy, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. And why couldn’t he sense any taint? Maybe his abilities to sense other Wardens wavered after a time of non-use, but he had never heard of such a thing. “So, you knew Duncan?”

“Who?” Blackwall said, carving into the wood.

Alistair blinked and crinkled his brow. “Duncan. As in Warden-Commander Duncan? Did you know more than one?” There was something definitely wrong. To a seasoned Warden, Duncan should need no further clarification

“Oh, right! Yes, I knew him. Good man.”  Blackwall swept away some wood shavings.

Alistair folded his arms. “He spoke very highly of you, you know.”

“Ah, don’t know why, I’ve only done my duty, just like any Grey Warden.” Blackwall tapped the tool into the soft wood. “Shame he died.”

“Yes it was.” Alistair watched him work for a moment. “So, did Leliana talk to you yesterday?”

“She did. I’ll tell you what I told her, just point me in the direction of this thing, and I’ll kill it.”

Alistair grasped his chin. “It’s really awful how those things are created, isn’t it? Broodmothers?”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t care how it’s made, only how to kill it.”

Alistair leaned against a post. “I’m just saying, for a Warden, it’s just so horrible. Taking newly initiated recruits like that and turning them into those things. Were you ever worried that you would be kidnapped, right after the joining?” He watched Blackwall carefully.

All was silent as the man froze for an instant before returning to his work. “Aye, but I remained vigilant, and I wasn’t afraid. No different than any other Warden.”

Alistair launched off of the post and grabbed Blackwall by collar, causing him to drop his tools and practically dragging the man across the dirt floor before slamming him into the wall. Somewhere barn implements came clattering to the floor.

“Who are you? Why are you here? Are you some sort of spy?” Alistair shouted, pinning him against the wall. His royal guard came running in, her weapon drawn. “I’m all right, go get the Commander! Now!” She ran off.

“Your Majesty, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I-”

Alistair braced his forearm against Blackwall’s neck, using his large size to box him in. “Enough lies! If you’re going to pretend to be a Grey Warden, at least brush up on the basics – I just made that shit up about the recruits!”

He leaned on the soft flesh just underneath Blackwall’s chin. The man wasn’t struggling now, but if he made any sudden moves, all it would take was a little more pressure to cut off his air supply. “It’s obvious you don’t know Duncan. Now talk! Who are you? What have you done with the real Blackwall?”

“What in Andraste’s name is going on here?!” It was Cullen, short of breath and baffled. Alistair was relieved that the Commander must have been nearby; even though he surpassed Blackwall in size and weight and he was fairly sure he was unarmed, you never knew what someone was capable of when cornered.

“Cullen, this man isn’t who he says he is. Trust me, he is no Grey Warden.” Alistair never took his eyes off of Blackwall. “Are you?”

When Cullen didn’t protest right away or call him crazy, Alistair knew that somewhere deep down he’d had his doubts about the man.

The Commander stepped closer and addressed Blackwall. “Well? What do you have to say to this allegation?”

Blackwall’s blue eyes darted from Alistair to Cullen and back again before he lowered them in defeat. “It’s true. I’m not who I say I am.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide before he hardened them and drew his sword, training it on the stranger. Alistair’s guard did the same.

“Who are you?” Cullen demanded. By now a small crowd had gathered outside of the stables.

“Please, I mean no harm. I’m just a wretched man running from my past. I can explain everything, if you’ll allow me.”

“And why should we believe you now?” Cullen snarled, angling the tip of his blade in closer.

“Because I’ve fought and bled for this Inquisition. I believe in your cause. I took the name of another man, but I never harmed him, I swear it. I had my reasons for assuming his identity. They aren’t good ones, but they’re reasons just the same.”

Alistair nodded to Cullen before returning his attention to the captive. “It’s your call.”

Cullen glared at the man who called himself Warden Blackwall with disgust. “We’ll take him into custody for questioning. The Inquisitor can decide what to do with him.”

Slowly Alistair released his hold on the man and Cullen moved in closer, his sword just inches from his neck. The prisoner stepped away from the wall with his hands held high.

“I go willingly. I won’t try to escape. I’ll accept my fate.”

“One false move,” Cullen warned, “and I won’t hesitate.”

The man lowered his head slightly, apparently wise enough not to make any sudden moves. “I don’t doubt that.”

***

Everyone in the room had their own reasons for being furious at the man who sat before them with his wrists shackled. The members of the Inquisition felt betrayed by someone who they trusted with sensitive information and their very lives. For Alistair, it was personal. This man had taken something as sacred as the Grey Warden sacrifice and made a mockery of it with his poorly thought-out masquerade. And he didn’t pretend to be just any Warden, but Gordon Blackwall, one of the most well-known and respected members of the order and a friend of his mentor and father figure.

Ingrid had been strangely quiet, hanging back with her arms folded and staring at the man with a blank expression. Alistair had expected yelling, a barrage of questions, maybe even some table-flipping. Instead Cullen was doing the talking, and he did not sound happy.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Talk!” He spread his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Tell us everything, start from the beginning.”

“I will make my confession,” the man said, his head rising until he met Ingrid’s flat gaze, “to the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor alone. It’s her that I have wronged, and should answer to.”

Leliana let out a short huff. “Whoever you are, you are in no position to make demands.”

The Commander’s scowl deepened, his upper lip curling, his voice vicious and low. He dipped his head down, trying to make eye contact. “We all trusted you, I trusted you to watch her back,” he jabbed a finger in Ingrid’s direction, “and the whole time you were lying to our faces! Now tell us who you really are and why you’re here! Did you kill the real Blackwall?”

“It’s all right, Cullen. I will hear his confession.” Ingrid finally spoke, her voice unreadable.

He turned sharply and reluctantly backed away from the table.

“Inquisitor, are you certain?” Leliana asked.

Ingrid stepped forward, her eyes never leaving the man who had called himself Blackwall. “Leave us.”

Cullen frowned harder but said nothing as they all filed out of the room, past the soldiers assigned to guard duty and up the stairs into Josie’s office. The Antivan jumped up from her desk at the sight of them.

“Back so soon?”

To Alistair’s surprise, Cullen descended on Leliana. “Isn’t it your  _job_  to find out this sort of information? How could you let something like this slip by you?”

Her blue eyes narrowed, but not before flinching at his outburst. “I take full responsibility. I did my due diligence, Commander, as I have with all the members of the Inquisition. I assure you, nothing out of the ordinary surfaced.”

“How do we know you haven’t made other mistakes, allowing spies into our ranks? What if he’s a sleeper agent, sent to assassinate her?”

“Then he would have made an attempt already during the many times he was alone with her.” She looked toward the stairwell. ”That man is no assassin. I don’t know why he’s been lying about who he is, but I don’t believe he’s a danger to the Inquisition.”

Cullen threw up a hand as he paced the room but only uttered a frustrated grunt in response.

Something occurred to Alistair. “Wait, how is it that your little spirit friend didn’t figure it out?”

Cullen snorted. “Because that would make Cole’s abilities actually  _useful_.”

Leliana shot Cullen a dark look before addressing Alistair. “He tends to blurt out cryptic bits and pieces at random. If nobody was looking for the information, it could be easily missed.”

Josie cut in. “Thank you for figuring out the truth. We owe you a great debt.”

“About that,” Alistair pondered, “he didn’t seem to be trying very hard to actually pretend to be a Grey Warden. I mean, if I was going to do something like that, I’d do way more research. He could barely withstand the most basic questioning. Of course the order is a secretive bunch, but still…”

“Are you saying he wished to be discovered?” Josie asked.

“Possibly. To count on never running into another veteran Warden just seems really stupid.”

Cullen stopped his pacing. “It’s pointless discussing this further, until we know more.” He called out as he left the room. “I have work to do. I’ll be in my office.”

“And I must get back to the rookery, one of my ravens might have returned with news.” Leliana swept out of the office, leaving Josie and Alistair alone.

He watched as Josie briskly walked over to her desk, snatched the bouquet of white flowers that had been there since he arrived from their vase and dropped them into the waste bin.

“Wow, what did those flowers ever do to you?”

“I  _thought_  a man named Blackwall gave them to me,” she said in clipped tones, settling in her desk chair, “but apparently they are based on a lie. I won’t have anything of the sort sullying my workspace.” She began shuffling through a stack of papers.

“Oh. I see.” Maybe the awkwardness he’d picked up on earlier wasn’t only because Blackwall was afraid Alistair would figure out his secret. “I didn’t realize you two were…together.”

“That is because we weren’t. It never progressed past this,” she gestured to the now empty vase. “We talked, flirted. I admit I enjoyed the attention and thought he was a nice man, but it hardly matters now.” She looked guilty when she glanced up at him. “I am sorry if this makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” he lied. “Of course you’ve had suitors. It would be crazy if you didn’t.”

She smiled without looking up from her paperwork. “Ah, here it is.” She whipped a piece of parchment from the pile and extended it to Alistair. “This just arrived yesterday. I think you’ll be quite pleased.”

He raised an eyebrow as he took the paper. “What is this?”

She laced her fingers together and set her chin on them, her dark eyes sparkling. “Go on, read it!”

He looked down at the paper, reading parts of it out loud.

“From the desk of Inquisition Ambassador Josephine Montilyet….etcetera, etcetera…by the order of the Inquisition we hereby declare…” he scanned the rest of the letter in silence, his trained eye zeroing in on the important bits.

His eyes went wide and he literally felt his jaw drop once he realized what he was looking at; a peace accord. He looked at Josie incredulously. “Are you telling me that they both agreed to this?”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded, her eyes alight. “Signed and sealed by both Banns themselves!”

He held the paper close and re-read it before turning to her with a small laugh. “Josie, do you know what this  _means_? You’ve just single-handedly ended a bloody feud that’s been going on in Ferelden since my grandfather’s day. These two idiots have been nothing but trouble since my coronation.” He waved the paper. “But how?”

She looked positively smug even as she downplayed the achievement. “It was really no trouble. Arl Teagan wrote to me some time ago asking for my help in resolving the dispute. I simply discovered certain proclivities that would ruin both of their houses, should they ever come to light. With the various contingencies I’ve put into place their families won’t be troubling each other, you or any future rulers of Ferelden ever again.”

Alistair vaguely recalled Teagan mentioning requesting assistance from the Inquisition but he hadn’t paid much attention, assuming that nothing would come of it. He moved closer to the desk and set the paper down, looking at her with pure awe. “You are an incredible woman, you know that?”

“I do,” she teased, “but it’s always nice to hear, nonetheless.”

He moved around to her side of the desk. “I can’t thank you enough. Ferelden can’t thank you enough. You’ve literally shaved hours off of our meetings from this act alone.”

She stood from her chair and gave him an admonishing look. “People have  _died_ , Alistair.”

“I know, I know, sorry, that was in poor taste.” Impulsively he took her hand and kissed it. He took a small step closer. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Perhaps,” she sighed, “but I might need some…persuasion.” She looked up at him from under dark eyelashes.

“Oh. I think I might enjoy convincing you.” He cringed internally at the corny line and decided he should just hurry up and do something so that she might forget it.

He cradled her jaw in his hands and kissed her, soft and sweet this time, their lips relaxed as they shifted their heads, her hands sliding up his back.

He could actually do this, he thought. He could see himself  _with_  her, touching her softly in different ways with no promise of sex, holding her, listening to her, even just being near her was enough, could be enough.

He tasted a faint trace of chocolate on her lips, a confection she seemed to turn to for comfort in times of crisis. For some reason that made him smile against her mouth. She was making him  _crazy_ , he realized, and he hadn’t felt like that since-

“I beg your pardon,” a clear voice cut across the room.

Alistair’s stomach lurched as they pulled away from each other.

“Lady Morrigan,” Josie exclaimed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The sliver of annoyance in her tone would be easy to miss by anyone unfamiliar with the Ambassador.

The witch leaned in the entryway with her arms folded, wearing a scowl to end all scowls, her hayseed eyes boring into his. Alistair wondered what she was so grumpy about until he realized he didn’t particularly care.

“I seek the Inquisitor,” she said without a trace of cordiality. “Is she near?”

“I’m afraid she is occupied at the moment. Is there something I can do for you?” Josie chirped.

“I have information that is for her ears only. When will she no longer be occupied?” Rude and condescending? This was much more like the Morrigan he knew, as opposed to the well-mannered version he’d seen the other day.

Josie was nonplussed. “I cannot say when she will be available, but I assure you, as her advisors, we are privy to any and all Inquisition intelligence. However, if you’d prefer, you may speak with Sister Leliana. You will find her in the rookery.” She sat down and pulled her chair in. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, there is much work to be done. Good day to you.”

Alistair couldn’t help but grin at her smooth dismissal, even though he was included.

Morrigan made sure her displeasure was known. “I suppose that shall suffice. Good day.” She turned to leave.

“Wait – I’m coming with you,” Alistair called to her before turning to Josie. “Find you later?”

She gave him a polite smile – too polite considering what they had just been doing. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

He caught up with a very obviously irritated Morrigan. “I don’t need a chaperone, Alistair. I know the way.”

“It’s like you said, we both share a common goal, to help the Inquisition defeat Corypheus.” He loved when he could use her own words against her.

“Fine.”

They walked in silence for a few beats. “So, sewing the royal oats, are we? Now I see why you were so eager to give up your room, like a dog being promised a bone.” Her words were biting and full of venom, it was almost like old times.

“Actually, wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

She stared at him as if he’d just spoken gibberish.

He sniggered. “You know, because she would get the –”

“I know what you meant by your childish attempt at a joke, you utter imbecile!” she snapped.

He stopped just outside the rotunda and grabbed her when she did not. “All right, what is your problem?”

“My problem?” Her voice began to rise as she jerked her arm from out of his grip. “Oh, ‘tis not I who has a problem. I am not the one cavorting about Skyhold like some deprived chantry boy, eager to dip his wick into anything that moves!”

Alistair recoiled, not just at her words but the intensity with which she almost shouted them in front of the entire main hall. A few people were craning their necks to look at them and trying not to be obvious about it.

He took her by the forearm and pulled her into a nearby hallway.

“What in the Maker’s name are you on about?” He barked when was sure they were alone. “Why do you give a nug’s arse what I do with my personal life?”

She was silent, frowning and fuming, and a horrible thought occurred to him, so much so that he almost couldn’t utter the words. “Are…are you  _jealous_?”

Her expression was a strange combination of amusement and abject horror.

“Are you implying that I have  _feelings_  for you? Oh  _please_. That is the most disgusting, ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I’d rather live the rest of my life as that aforementioned nug’s arse.”

“Well what else am I supposed to think? Why are you acting so crazy, even for you?”

She didn’t respond right away, seemingly struggling with what to say. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her at a loss for words. No, that wasn’t true; there was one other time, a time he didn’t like to think about.

“Morrigan, what is it? If we’re going to be working together we need to-“

“It’s Solona, all right? There, I said it.” A profound sadness fell over her features.

His insides twitched at her name. “What do you mean? What about her?”

When she finally spoke her voice was quiet, genuine.

“My whole life I had never believed in such a silly notion as love. I thought it was a lie fools told each other to help themselves cope with the cruel world around them, and mother encouraged those feelings. But then I met Solona, and you. She was my dearest friend, my only friend and she shared so much, she opened my eyes to the possibility. I saw what the two of you had, and I…I believed.”

She gazed at him with such sorrow. “You, Alistair, were  _everything_  to her. So much so that she died in your stead. There is nothing truer in this world than that.”

Alistair couldn’t look at her anymore and he turned away too quickly, having to brace himself on the stone wall. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wanting nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs until there was no air left to power them. All of the effort he’d been making to get on with his life, to end the sleepless nights, to stop the incessant loneliness, it was all was threatening to come undone with just a few choice words from Morrigan. He damned the Empress and anyone else who was responsible for sending her to Skyhold.

“It was clear to me that you care for this Josephine, and I may have reacted poorly. For that, I apologize. But I will not apologize for believing in true love.”

It was such a foreign thing, he almost didn’t recognize that it was her hand that was resting on his shoulder. From behind him her voice came, cunning and devious but  _comforting,_  somehow, sending chills up his weary spine and evoking thoughts he knew he should ignore.

“Were I you, I would not let death stop me. I would find a way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments, ideas, even if it's just two words. I wouldn't worry too much about Josie and Alistair, but things will get pret-ty angsty before this fic is done.


	10. Ten - Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying something a little different, making shorter chapters. Hopefully it's not too jarring of a change. I probably do the next chapter from Cullen's POV again, if that works I'll try to stick with two/two.

Cullen flipped to the second page of the report, his eyes not leaving the parchment when he spoke. “These have all been counted thrice?”

“Yes Commander, I saw to it myself.”

“Good.” He dipped his quill and signed before handing it back to the corporal. “Make sure we maintain these supply levels. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Of course, Commander.”

“Dismissed.”

He was about to separate his requisitions into a separate pile on his desk when he heard a commotion just outside his door.

“For fuck’s sake, watch where you’re going!”

“Inquisitor! Forgive my clumsiness, I-”

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“P-Parker, Your Worship. Samuel Parker.”

Cullen rounded his desk and moved to the door.

“Well Parker, do you always walk around with your head crammed up your arse?”

He stepped outside to a visibly shocked Parker recoiling from Ingrid, who was advancing on him while she shouted.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cullen demanded.

Dark eyes turned on him. “You might want to tell your soldiers to watch where they’re going. He almost knocked me over the edge!”

Samuel’s mouth flopped open and closed again. “That - that’s not true, Commander, it was a mere accident, I-“

She whirled on him. “Are you calling me, your Herald, a liar?”

“All right, that’s enough!” Cullen addressed Ingrid before turning to Samuel. “You may go.”  The soldier hustled off while Ingrid glared at her Commander coldly, her arms folded.

Cullen gestured to the door, his mouth set in a hard line. “Inquisitor, would you like to come in?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Cullen. And how dare you undermine my authority like that. That man is utterly careless!”

Cullen crossed his arms. “That man is one of my best soldiers, and he reports to me. You were overreacting, not entirely unlike a child. Clearly it was an accident.”

She huffed. “Overreacting? I fell backward onto my arse. He was looking at his stupid report! Who does that when they’re walking through a crowded keep?”

“And were you watching where you were going?”

Ingrid grunted in frustration, which told him that she hadn’t been. “I don’t need this right now, after the day I’ve had, especially from you!” she shouted. Cullen noticed some of the people below were stopping to look up from them.

“Please, if you would just-“

“You know what? I’ll write up a report for you on Blackwall - Thom’s, confession. I just know how much you love to read them.” She turned to leave.

Cullen reached out and took her by the arm. “Come now, you’re being unreasonable. Let’s talk about this inside.”

“I’m being unreasonable? I just found out that one of my most trusted companions, my friend, is not only an entirely different person but a murderer of innocents! I think I’m allowed to freak out a little!” Her eyes wavered, and he only just now noticed the lines of red around her irises and the puffy skin under her eyes. In the light of Blackwall’s revelation he’d lost sight of how personal this really was for her.

He softened his tone. “I’m sorry. Let’s go inside, I’ll even pour you a glass of port.”

She exhaled loudly, her shoulders drooping. “I just came here straightaway without thinking, but I suppose I should call a meeting. I don’t know that I can repeat this.”

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. “I shall inform the others, not to worry.” Without looking at him she tucked herself under his arm and leaned against his body. He held her tight, rubbing her shoulder.

“Oh Cullen, I’m so  _tired_.” The last word came out in a puff of air, almost sounding like a laugh.

He bumped his nose to her scalp, a habit he’d developed without really knowing why. “I know.”

***

She told him everything between sips of port, her long legs tucked under her chin on the only other chair in the room. He listened intently and asked very few questions, it appeared that the man who had called himself Blackwall had been quite thorough about his background this time around.

His real name was Thom Rainier, a former captain of the Orlesian royal army. With the promise of a significant amount of coin he was turned to the usurper Gaspard’s side and ordered his loyal men to assassinate a prominent Empress Celene sympathizer. Unbeknownst to Rainier the man was traveling with not only his guards but his wife and children as well, and all were slaughtered in the ensuing chaos. Rainier had gone into hiding and was recruited by the real Warden Blackwall, but when Blackwall was killed by darkspawn, Thom saw an opportuntiy and assumed his identity, hoping to do some good and atone for his crime.

Cullen didn’t want to tell her that he’d felt something was off about the man when he joined the Inquisition, but he’d shrugged it off to paranoia and perhaps petty jealousy. It had not escaped Cullen’s notice the way he looked at Ingrid, how he was a little too enthusiastic in his admiration, the sour expression on the man’s face when Cullen would catch his eye after he’d share a moment of affection with her, the way he’d strut like a peacock after Ingrid would choose him to accompany her on a mission. Despite Cullen’s discomfort with the man’s obvious feelings for her, he’d greatly appreciated his efforts to protect her out in the field and never imagined that he was hiding anything like this. He’d read and heard anecdotes from Ingrid and her companions about Blackwall being the only one left standing when everyone else had been injured and still cutting down the last of the enemies. It was all so disorienting for him to try and reconcile the man they knew and a man who could do such a heinous thing. He couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling, and he told her so.

“Apparently I’m not feeling well at all, considering how I just treated poor Samuel. I really should apologize to him.”

“Don’t fret, he’s heard much worse from me. He’ll get past it.”

“That’s different. You don’t yell at anyone unless it’s justified. I will still apologize, I don’t want to be that sort of leader.”

Cullen nodded. “I guess the question now is, what will you do?”

She pushed her hand into her black hair. “That’s just it, I don’t  _know_. Oh, I haven’t even gotten to the best part.” She produced a piece of paper from her boot and handed it to him. “This was on his person. Apparently he was going to leave Skyhold in two days time.”

He inspected the document, it was a notice of a public hanging in Val Royeaux for the very crime Rainier had confessed to. “This man, was he part of Rainier’s company?”

She nodded gravely. “Black-Rainier, claims that he was going to turn himself in, take his place on the gallows.”

Cullen frowned. “I don’t understand, if he was going to tell you anyway, why did he deny it when Alistair cornered him?”

She shook her head. “That’s just the thing, he wasn’t. His plan was to slip off unnoticed, no indication as to where he’d gone, just disappear with a vague goodbye note.” She threw up her hands and let them slap against her thighs. “Can you believe that? He says I inspired him to be a better man, to stop running and accept his fate, but he still wanted to protect me from the truth.”

Cullen’s lips pressed together and his eyes almost rolled before he stopped himself, but of course she still caught it.

“Cullen, there’s no reason to be like that, you obviously got the girl in the end. I know how he felt about me.”

He sat forward in his chair. “You did?”

“Of course I did, how could I not? All that ‘the world is at your feet, myself included’ business. I confronted him about it, actually.”

Cullen cocked an eyebrow, all ears.

“I figured it was best to clear the air if we were going to be spending so much time together. I mean, the last thing I needed was any misunderstandings like an unwanted visitor in my tent in the middle of the night.”

Cullen blinked, speaking slowly. “Is that a…thing that happens often in camp?”

She continued on. “So we talked, and he admitted he had feelings for me, but he was relieved that I didn’t return the sentiment. At the time I thought his was a very odd reaction, but now I know why. We agreed to be friends, and that was that. Last I knew he had an eye for Josie, until Alistair arrived.”

Cullen briefly felt sorry for the man, being passed over by not one but two women within the same organization. Perhaps that was his recompense for his masquerade.

She finished the last drop of wine in her cup. “I think that’s why this is so hard. I thought we understood each other, no secrets, not after someone admits they’re in love with you.”

He planted his hands on his desk. “Wait,  _love_? I thought you said he had feelings for you.”

“Cullen, this isn’t the time to argue semantics! Will you please help me figure out what I should do?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He shook off his pointless envy and thought about possible courses of action. “The first thing we need to do is get a raven to Val Royeaux, let them know they have the wrong man.”

“And they will likely demand that we send them Rainier.”

“True. But we could use our position to our advantage. He’s in our custody, I don’t see how we’re required to release him to Orlais. We could say that the Inquisition will try him as we see fit.”

“Ugh, we definitely need to go over this with the others. My head is already spinning.”

“You’re right. We particularly need Josie’s input on the matter.” He looked at the notice. “The hanging is in a fortnight, give or take. That gives us enough time to notify the authorities. Allow me to convene with the others and we can present you with options. You won’t have to decide this on your own.”

She bit her lip. “All right. It feels strange, leaving him locked up, but I made sure the guards are treating him kindly. I had them put a bedroll in the cell and he’s getting the same food as everyone else, even though he protested. Said he didn’t deserve such kindness from me.”

Cullen shook his head and stared at his puffy-eyed, stressed-out beauty, and wholeheartedly agreed with this Thom Rainier. They sat for a moment, absorbing the gravity of the situation.

“This might sound a bit daft, but may I come and sit with you?” She was plucking at her fingers again.

“Do you mean on my lap?” He couldn’t imagine why she’d want to, his desk chair wasn’t very comfortable for one person, let alone two.

She nodded, darting her gaze away from his. It was rather unlike her to be bashful with him.

“Of course, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable upstairs?”

She was already walking over so he pushed the chair away from the desk and turned it around to make room. Almost sheepishly she deposited herself onto his lap, sitting sideways with her legs dangling over the arm of the chair and curling her tall frame into his as much as she could.

He wrapped his arms around her and tried to look her in the eye when she nuzzled against his head. “What brought this on?”

Warm breath gusted onto his ear. “I’m not sure. I feel as if I could sleep for a thousand years, for one.”

“Let me take you upstairs, if you need to rest. I’ll just tell everyone you’re not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day. We can come up with a plan for Bla-Rainier in the meantime.”

She didn’t respond, just settled in further and shut her eyes. It occurred to him that all of his doors were unlocked, but he didn’t want to disturb her just as she was getting comfortable.

After a while Ingrid began to move, ever so slightly, her buttocks rocking on his thigh. He shifted and lowered his arms, thinking she was wanting to get up, but she snatched the hand that wasn’t supporting her back.

“Mmm,” she hummed, and tucked his hand between her legs.

They both gasped.

She dragged her tongue up to the spot just under his ear, knowing what it did to him, and he pressed his fingers against her sex in response, feeling the warmth right through her trousers. She whimpered and ground against him, covering his hand with hers, angling her hips and adjusting him so the heel of his palm was in just the right spot.

She let go of his hand and pulled his face in to meet hers, every part of their lips connecting, open and tasting, breathing into one another and roiling as she rode his hand, her hips snapping and building into a steady rhythm against his glove, the office filling with sounds of their friction, leather squeaking against leather, skin smacking on skin, wood scratching on wood.

Ingrid pulled her lips from his and gripped his neck, humping the palm of his hand harder and faster, her eyes closing as her breathing became increasingly erratic, and he focused on keeping his hand steady and solid for her, calling on the strength of his sword arm that powered it, digging his fingers in as much as he could despite the layers between them. He looked up at her and watched her concentrate on her escalating high, cradling the back of her neck with his other hand, imagining and knowing that her smalls were completely soaked through. He spread his legs and dug his boot heels into the floor to keep both him and the chair stable as she writhed on his crotch.

Her hands clamored and found the back of the chair and she pumped her hips a few more times so forcefully that he thought they might tip the chair over and she came, her mouth formed into a perfect “o”, silent save for a few shuddering gasps. She stopped moving and slumped onto him, he stroked her between the legs a few more times before withdrawing his hand and caressing her arm.

Once her labored breathing somewhat returned to normal she spoke, playing with his breastplate ties.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away. I really, really needed that.”

He chuckled. “You needn’t apologize to me for anything of that sort, ever. Although, we’re lucky we weren’t interrupted.”

She snickered. “Cullen, I hate to break it to you, but everyone in the entire keep knows not to bother you when those doors are closed.”

He furrowed his brow. “They do? But I’ve always stressed that I have an open-door policy. And how do you know this?”

Ingrid laughed. “You are too adorable. I just  _do_.”

A faint whispering sound against the floor drew their attention. A piece of paper lay at the foot of the door that definitely wasn’t there before. Cullen retrieved and unfolded the note, quickly reading it.

“What does it say?” Ingrid asked.

He opened the door and craned his neck in all directions but found no one anywhere nearby, an unusual occurrence even without the mysterious letter. She snatched the paper from his hand and read aloud.

“ _Commander and Inquisitor_ ,  _Meet me in the garden tonight at moon rise. A matter has come to light that deserves your personal attention. Bring no one, your discretion is paramount._  It’s signed  _M_. M…Morrigan?”

“It’s the only person I can think of who might have the gall to make such a request.”

“What could she possibly want? Why the secrecy? And how did she know I was here?” When he didn’t answer right away, she pressed him. “Cullen, any ideas?”

“What? No, I’ve no clue.” Cullen was lost in thought, paying close attention to the niggling feeling in his gut he’d come to trust. He didn’t think Morrigan meant any harm necessarily, but he hadn’t forgotten Leliana’s warnings to remain on his guard when it came to dealing with the mage.

To put it simply; he had a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that crazy kid Morrigan up to this time? Comments are loooooove. And I'm always open to plot suggestions, since I have a very loose idea that often changes as I go along.


	11. Eleven - Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan reveals her scheme to the Inquisitor and Commander.

Skyhold’s garden was surprisingly eerie at nighttime, the newly risen moon casting long, grotesque shadows underneath the stone overhang. It also appeared to be completely deserted.

“Where is she?” Ingrid hissed.

“I don’t see her,” Cullen replied, surverying the area. “Why are you whispering?” 

“I don’t know, this just all seems so…” She waved her hands, searching for the right word. “ _Secretive_.” There was a smile in her voice, apparently she was enjoying this.

He made sure she saw his look of disapproval. “Just be ready for anything.” He tightened his hold on the grip of his sword and felt the charge of Ingrid’s magic beside him.

“I mean you no harm,” a velvety voice called out. 

They spun around, following the source. A pair of almost inhuman golden eyes glittered in the darkness of the gazebo. Morrigan sauntered out of the shadows and into the moonlight.

“Even if I were to attack,” she said, gesturing to the battlements above, “I’d be at a disadvantage, it seems. Exactly how many arrows are trained on my skull at this very moment, I wonder? Four? Five?”

Cullen relaxed his hold on his weapon and wondered how she discovered his contingency plan. He’d thought his archers were well-hidden. “Seven. I like to come prepared.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Ingrid added hastily. “I’m sure you can understand our caution. We don’t usually get requests to meet alone under the light of the moon, you see.”

Morrigan sidled closer, eyeing them with dry amusement. “My, you two make quite the pair, don’t you? Such power, such command, ready to take on any threat that comes your way. ’Tis most impressive.”

“Why have you called us here, Morrigan?” Cullen asked gruffly. He didn’t care for her mocking tone.

She laced her fingers together. “Yes, I shall get to the point, as they say.” She walked over to a nearby flowering bush and dragged her fingers over a fresh bloom.

“As both of you are well aware, I traveled with the Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair - then, of course, a bastard prince - during the Fifth Blight. I’m sure you are also aware that the two were very much in love. Her death was devastating for…many of us, but particularly for Alistair. I do not believe he has ever recovered.” 

She paused and turned to face them. “He never wanted to be King, you know. He ultimately accepted his fate, but only because of her encouragement. He thought they would rule together, you see. Mage or no, he was determined to make her his queen. Alas, she made the Ultimate Sacrifice, and he has floundered on the throne ever since.”

“Now, that’s hardly fair,” Cullen said, frowning. “Alistair has proven to be a fine King.”

Morrigan cocked her head, her eyebrow rising sharply. “Has he? The mage/templar war in Ferelden showed no signs of stopping until you arrived. Would you trust him to defend your homeland against, say, a full-scale Orlesian invasion?”

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed. “But we stopped Gaspard, with your help, at The Winter Palace. Just what are you implying?”

The mage spoke coolly. “I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that this so-called truce you brokered between Celene and her war-mongering cousin has only delayed the inevitable. As soon as this Corypheus is dealt with, Gaspard will take power by any means necessary, and he will wage war on Ferelden.”

“You believe he would do such a thing after publicly declaring a truce? How can you possibly know that?” Cullen demanded. 

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. “You are asking the wrong questions, Commander. I do not believe it, I know it to be true. How I know matters not. He won’t rest until he retakes what he believes is rightly his. We cannot have Thedas descending into chaos once more.”

Ingrid scowled. “So why come to us like this, in secret? Why not tell this to Alistair? The Inquisition is supposed to be neutral in these matters. We only intervened at the ball to thwart Corypheus.”

Morrigan stepped closer, her words taking on gravitas. “I come to you because I know of a way to help Alistair become the King Ferelden needs. To give him the strength and wisdom he will undoubtedly need to repel this invasion. But I will need your help to make it so.”

“We should have killed Gaspard when we had the chance,” Cullen muttered.

Ingrid shot him a look. She was careful to mask her feelings in front of their guest, but Cullen could still discern her meaning. He winced slightly, recalling the case he had made in Halamshiral for allowing the Empress to be assassinated. “I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong,” he said. “It seems I overestimated his ability to see reason.” 

“Or underestimated his determination,” Ingrid sighed. “We all did.”

He turned to Morrigan. “What if we sent Leliana’s people to take care of him? Normally I don’t prefer such actions, but if it what you are saying is true, if it will save lives-“

Morrigan waved a hand in dismissal. “It would only assure his supporters that their cause is just and trigger a swift and deadly response. There are many powerful nobles in Orlais who outwardly favor Celene while they secretly funnel coin to him and Chevaliers who swear their swords to Gaspard. Besides, he’s very well protected. You would not be the first to try and assassinate him.”

Ingrid planted her hands on her hips. “It’s obvious you have some sort of plan. So tell us, what is it?”

The mage sidled into Cullen’s personal space, seemingly oblivious to Ingrid’s glare or his discomfort. When she spoke, her voice was smooth as silk. “Tell me, Commander. If something were to happen to your Inquisitor, would you do anything in your power to bring her back?”

“What? What sort of question is that?” Cullen demanded, his hand going to his sword again. He instinctively placed himself between Morrigan and Ingrid, whose magical energy begain to hum up and down his spine. “Is that a threat?”

Morrigan’s eyes wavered, just for a second, but her expression remained flat. “Not at all, ‘tis simply a question. If you lost her and had the means to bring her back, unchanged, as if she had never left your side, would you do it?”

Cullen swallowed. The question was so unexpected, so bizarre, he wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this some sort of trick? A riddle? The idea of losing her was an impossible one to fathom, but the thought of resurrecting the dead, even his beloved, was unsettling enough to give him pause.

“I - I don’t know. I suppose I would,” he responded, doubting the words even as he said them. “But I don’t see what this has to do with Alistair, or you,” He wasn’t quite ready to release his hold on his sword. “Kindly get to the point.”

“If Necromancy is involved, you can count me out,” Ingrid declared, moving to his side. “And don’t even think about asking Dorian.”

“Necromancy? Please,” Morrigan scoffed, taking a slow step backward. “What I have in mind is much more…elegant.” She looked between them. “I shall speak plainly; I believe I can bring the Hero of Fereldan back to life, and I need your help to do it.”

Cullen blinked, trying to grasp the magnitude of what she was suggesting. Solona Amell, back from the dead. If there was no ressurrection of a corpse, no Necromancy involved, then it was impossible, mere fantasy…wasn’t it?

Ingrid spoke softly. “This isn’t an idea that just comes up overnight. You’ve been researching this for some time, haven’t you?”

Morrigan’s voice sounded oddly thick. “For the last ten years, yes.”

Ingrid seemed curious, her defensive posture fading. “But how? And why us?”

The mage’s eyes shone as she fixed them on Cullen. “I need someone with whom Solona had a deep personal connection, a bond, other than Alistair.” Her golden gaze flitted over to Ingrid. “And your mark is the key I need to access the Fade to find her.”

“You mean to physically enter the Fade? Do you really think that’s possible?” Ingrid asked in awe.

Cullen snapped out of his shock. “Maker’s breath, you’re not actually _considering_ this, are you?”

Ingrid looked slightly uneasy. “I’m not agreeing to anything. Let her answer.”

“I do think it’s entirely possible, yes. You can close rifts but you can also create them to destroy enemies. It stands to reason that we could pass through one as well.”

“You’ve done your homework on my abilities,” Ingrid remarked. “And you’re not asking Alistair because…”

Morrigan folded her arms. “The stubborn, self-righteous fool would never agree to it, wouldn’t be able to get past his petty hatred of me,” she said bitterly. “But if he were to see her in front of him, just as he remembered her, I know he would accept her without question.”

"You mean Alistair has the good sense to steer clear of anything like this,” Cullen sneered. “You speak of the King’s reaction, but what of the people? His court? Hundreds were at her funeral, her sacrifice is the stuff of legend. There’s a statue in her honor in Redcliffe. How do you expect the people will react when she suddenly reappears?” 

"With fear," Ingrid answered evenly.

"And mistrust," he added. "They’ll cry foul magic, and they wouldn’t exactly be wrong, would they?” 

She regarded him as if he were a bothersome child. “Do you take me for some short-sighted amatuer, Commander? I’ve taken all of that into consideration, and such details are none of your concern.”

He snorted with disbelief. The nerve of this woman, to seek their help with something so outlandish without divulging everything that would be involved. “All right, I’ll bite. How exactly do you plan on using us to retrieve Amell from…wherever she is?”

Morrigan seemed pleased. “Finally, he asks a sensible question. It’s really quite simple. The Inquisitor will use her mark to create a rift. My magic will protect us from any destructive qualities, then you and I would then pass through it. Once we are in the Fade, your spirit will act as sort of a clarion call, a beacon, and Solona will be drawn to us. From my research, I know there are certain weak points in the Fade, exits that will bring us back here, to our world. Once we return, I will use a spell that will make her corporeal form whole. She would be no different than she was when she was alive.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose before slamming down over his eyes. “Your plan is to enter a rift and use me as bait? And what makes you so sure she would come willingly? No,” he protested without waiting for a response. “This is madness, I won’t hear any more. You want her back to help prevent a war? Hasn’t she done enough? Let the poor woman rest in peace! Solona may not have been devout, but she saved all of Thedas from the blight - surely the Maker called her to his side, instead of leaving her to wander the Fade.” 

“You think she’s at your Maker’s side?” Morrigan spat. “You truly still believe in such nonsense, even after all you’ve seen, after leaving the order?”

“I left the templars behind, not my beliefs,” he insisted.

Morrigan’s steely voice rose and trembled. “Then you are a fool. Might I remind you that she died killing an arch demon, I assure you she will never see peace in death! Grey Wardens are all doomed to roam the Fade for eternity, tainted by twisted souls, it’s their horrible fate to bear. Yet they accept it blindly out of some ridiculous notion of sacrifice, of duty to a decaying order.” 

She moved closer to him, but this time instead of vague menace she carried an air of desperation. “You once cared for her, Cullen. Tell me, does that seem like a fitting end for Solona? You could free her from that darkness, reunite her with her one true love, help her find happiness again. How can you say in one breath that you would take Ingrid back, but deny Alistair the very same thing in the next?” 

Cullen’s head was spinning, and Ingrid was strangely silent. He knew he was being manipulated, and he didn’t know if Grey Wardens truly did suffer after death, but amidst the lunacy of her words there was something in her face that made him wonder, _What if_? For a moment he could see beyond the cold veneer and there was real pain, real grief pulling at her features and coloring the tone of her voice. She wasn’t just doing this for the sake of Thedas or Ferelden; this was personal. Morrigan had loved Solona, just as he once had. But that almost seemed like another lifetime ago, like a wonderfully rich story he’d been told instead of something he’d actually lived.

“It’s not my place,” he ground out slowly, tearing his eyes away from Morrigan’s pleading stare. “It doesn’t seem right. I won’t be part of this.” He stormed off, stopping when he realized Ingrid wasn’t at his side. He turned to see her looking over her shoulder at him, then she turned to face the mage.

“I’m sorry Morrigan, but-” Ingrid was saying, then a milky white hand with black painted fingernails latched onto her arm. Cullen drew his blade, there was a crackle followed by a brilliant flash of light and the _thwick!_ of an arrow sinking into the ground where Morrigan had just been standing, and then utter silence. 

“Ingrid!” he yelled as his archers emerged from the shadows, searching for a target. A couple of them fled down the stairs with daggers drawn. He ran to the spot where the women had just been seconds before, magical residue tingling his nostrils. It wasn’t any spell he was familiar with, but he could sense the immense power behind it. He cursed himself for dropping his guard around the infamous Witch of the Wilds.

“Orders ser?” one of his men asked.

Cullen spun around frantically, but he knew they were gone. He quelled his panic and gestured for the rest of them to descend the stairs, sheathing his sword.

“All of you; keep this quiet, we don’t want to cause alarm,” he warned once they were close. “If I hear that anyone has gotten wind of this, you will answer to me personally. I don’t believe she’s in danger, but rest assured, we will find her.”

He dismissed his soldiers and trudged toward Skyhold’s guest quarters. He had meant what he said, it felt like an act of devious desperation rather than malice, and his instincts told him that Morrigan had been telling the truth. Obviously she’d thought they would go along with her twisted plan and kidnapped Ingrid as a last resort. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be consequences for what she had done once he caught up with her.

What he didn’t understand was what she had hoped to accomplish without him, if she truly needed someone who had bonded with Solona as “bait”. And Morrigan was in for a rude awakening if she thought for one moment she could force Ingrid to do anything she didn’t want to. He guessed that Morrigan planned on convincing her somehow, perhaps appeal to her scholarly inclinations as a fellow mage. Physically entering the Fade and bringing someone’s soul back had never been done, as far as he knew. The implications of such magic were staggering and would probably have even the most respected mages in Tevinter salivating at their feet, should they succeed.

He shuddered at the thought.

He was stopped by the guards stationed outside the King’s quarters, and hesitated when they asked him what his business was. He'd come here impulsively, but he could try and resolve this without his knowledge. To learn of Morrigan’s unholy intention would likely be very upsetting for Alistair, to say the least. Between Leliana, Solas, Dorian and Vivienne, they may even be able to find them by morning, deal with Morrigan, and he would never need to be the wiser. But keeping it from him didn’t feel right, either. The man deserved to know the truth. 

And, perhaps it was selfish, but Cullen was greatly in need of a friend at the moment. The woman who he'd dreamed of marrying someday had been taken from him, and the tenuous shield around his emotions was beginning to crack.

“It’s an urgent matter; please, wake the King.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon is drifting further and further, plot of course but small world details. I'm trying to not get too far off-base. Comments are love!


	12. Twelve - Alistair

Cullen’s mouth was still moving, but Alistair could no longer hear him. Blood rushed in his ears to the rhythm of his heart slamming against his ribs. He was aware enough to grasp the back of the nearby chair, should his weakened knees give out.

“… right?” Cullen’s voice drifted back in as he moved closer, his outstretched hand reaching toward Alistair.

“I’m fine. I just - I need air. Or maybe I need to sit. Or both of those things.” The words _Solona_ and _alive_ were rolling back and forth in his mind, the truth he’d worked so hard to accept now vulnerable to change. He didn’t want to believe it was possible, but if Morrigan was willing to do something as foolish as kidnap the Inquisitor, then it must be. The thought petrified him beyond reason.

Cullen threw the latch on the window and pushed it open while Alistair plopped onto the chair. Cool, calming night air wafted over his face and filled his tightened lungs.

“Thanks,” Alistair breathed. 

Everything about Cullen’s demeanor broadcasted his desire to leave and find the Inquisitor, yet he lingered. “I imagine this must be difficult for you.”

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. The shock was fading and he felt more like himself again. “I’m fine. The important thing is finding the Inquisitor.”

“Agreed. I thought you should be the first to know, considering the circumstances. I will gather the others; you know where to find us.” 

Cullen started to leave when Alistair jumped up from his seat.

“I’m right behind you,” Alistair said, because he wasn’t sure how to hold onto his sanity if he was left alone.

***

Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian conferred with each other over the spot where Morrigan had vanished with the Inquisitor. They had examined the area - presumably the magical residue left behind from the spell - and now compared notes, trying to come to a consensus. Occasionally, one of them would raise their voice, but Alistair couldn’t make out what they were saying. He stood with the advisors, far enough away so that they wouldn’t draw excess attention from the patrolling guards or occasional noble.

Cullen paced nearby, his calm eroding with each passing moment. Concern for Ingrid’s well-being was almost enough to distract Alistair from what possibly lay in store. Almost.

Leliana folded her arms. “What in Andraste’s name is taking them so long? This is no time for scholarly debates!”

“For once,” Cullen growled from the darkness underneath the overhang, “we agree.”

Alistair expected Josie’s reply, already accustomed to the banter between the Inquisition’s threesome, then he remembered that she hadn’t been summoned. Leliana had thought it best to wait until morning, since it was unlikely a diplomat’s services would be of use at this hour. Alistair was grateful for her absence for less practical reasons.

It was Vivienne who motioned for them to assemble in a dank, musty room next to the chantry, which was empty save for an enormous mirror draped in a dirty cloth. 

“Well?” Cullen blurted before the door had even closed. “Can you locate her?”

Dorian stepped forward, carrying a heady scent of musk along with him. “Going by your description of what transpired and the aura left behind, it appears our lovely ex-apostate cast a rare teleportation spell.” 

The Tevinter mage tugged at the tip of his mustache. “When I was a boy, some brash young mages liked to show off and give that spell a whirl, with mixed results. It’s wildly unstable, you see. Unless the spell is performed to absolute perfection, one could find themselves in two places at once, if you catch my meaning. Naturally, that trend fell out of favor.”

“Are you saying they could have been _maimed_ in the process?” Cullen asked, his eyes widening in alarm.

Vivienne raised her elegant hands in a placating gesture. “Darling, there’s absolutely no evidence of the Inquisitor being harmed. The point is this: such a spell, because of the vast amount of power it requires, could only transport a mage of Morrigan’s stature a short distance.”

“Meaning,” Dorian concluded, “she probably teleported somewhere just outside Skyhold.”

“You mean we could have already been out there searching?” Cullen asked, looking around at everyone. “Well, what are we standing around for? Morrigan can’t have gone much farther on foot, especially with an unwilling hostage.”

“There’s still the matter of the Fade,” Solas interjected. “Commander, you said her plan was to use the Inquisitor’s mark to enter it. Morrigan is no fool; she would try to implement her plan as quickly as possible after the escape. If she succeeded, your Witch of the Wilds may already be in the Fade.” There was more than a hint of excitement in the elf’s eyes as he spoke. “She may have achieved her goal.”

Alistair’s mouth went dry as all eyes swept over to him. An image of Solona flashed before his eyes, once welcomed but now hastily dismissed, like an impure thought. “Who knew death could be undone in such a jiffy?” he croaked.

“Time passes very differently in the Fade,” Solas said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Minutes here could be hours there, hours could be days.”

Leliana’s sad eyes lingered on Alistair before she turned to Solas. “Do you really think it is possible? To bring a soul back from the Fade into a physical form?”

“It is possible, but unlikely. Just one misstep, one error, and she will fail. However, I must admit, I admire Morrigan’s ambition.”

Cullen shook his head. “None of that matters, because Ingrid would refuse! Morrigan cannot enter the Fade without the mark. Ingrid wouldn’t…she wouldn’t agree to such a grotesque act.” His eyes darted over to Alistair.

“A desperate mage has many tools at her disposal to get what they want, my dear,” Vivienne said ominously. “Mind control, hallucination spells — Ingrid may believe she’s being attacked by demons and will use her mark-“

“Enough talk!” Cullen snapped, scanning the floor as if he were searching for something he’d dropped. “I’ll lead a small retinue to search the valley. Dorian, you’re coming with me. We’ll keep this quiet for now; Maker willing, this will be over soon.”

“I’ll go with you,” Alistair said.

“Take Gilly; she’s my best tracker,” Leliana said. “I’ll remain here, should they return.” 

Cullen gave a curt nod in her general direction.  


“Wait,” Alistair said. “Mages have a strong connection to the Fade, right? While we look for Ingrid, could one of you sleep, or meditate, or whatever, and find Morrigan?” He wanted to add _‘and stop her’_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words. 

“This is a highly unusual situation, Your Majesty,” Solas replied. “Remember, Morrigan would be there _physically_. Dreaming in the Fade and actually being there are entirely different things.”

“Not to mention the Fade is endless,” Vivienne said. “Without the use of our magic, locating her would prove difficult, if not impossible.”

“If you’re coming, we need to leave, now,” Cullen said to Alistair. 

Alistair followed Cullen and Dorian toward the door, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“ _Alistair_ , wait” Leliana pleaded. “You two, go on, he’ll catch up with you.”

The Commander and the Vint left without a word.

Leliana turned halfway toward the remaining mages. “Leave us. And thank you for your counsel.” They obliged, filing through the open door and shutting it behind them.

She regarded Alistair with her large blue-gray eyes, shimmering soft in the torchlight, and for a moment she was no longer the hardened spymaster of the Inquisition. She was Leliana, the devout and cheerful bard, the sweet woman that had sang him to sleep more times than he could count, who helped him work up the courage to give Solona the rose that started him on this amazing and hellish journey. 

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, then she embraced him. He fought the urge to sink into her arms and sob, to release his fear and despair and, Maker help him, his excitement. Instead, he held onto her stiffly.

She slipped out of his arms and cupped his jaw. Absurdly, he was ashamed that he hadn’t shaved. 

“I’m so sorry, my friend, but we must prepare for the possibility that Morrigan will succeed. Are you sure you want to go? You don’t know what you’ll find.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure. If this works, I’ll find out sooner or later, anyway. The least I can do is help find Ingrid. It’s my fault she’s in this mess.” But there was a tiny voice within, whispering another reason why he wanted to be there, something he would not, could not acknowledge.

“This is the doing of a delusional person, Alistair. It’s hardly your fault.”

Alistair snickered bitterly, turning away from her. “Isn’t it? She’s right, you know.”

Leliana came around into his line of sight. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head, remembering what Cullen had told him; there wasn’t time to explain. “Forget it. I should go.” 

He grabbed the door handle and stopped, turned and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. He tried his best to smile, to turn on the old Alistair charm, to keep the roiling demons at bay. “Things might get pretty crazy around here soon, even by our standards. I’m glad you’re here.”

The corner of her mouth upturned just a bit. “Alistair, this is my home. Where else would I be?”

He clucked his tongue at his old friend. “You know what I meant. See you later, Leli.”

***

“The markings here suggest that there were two people, ser,” Gilly crouched low to the snow-dusted ground, holding the lantern low. “Looks like they fell down, out of thin air. There are no tracks leading to this spot.” 

Alistair squinted at the area she was looking at but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Dorian hovered nearby, stroking his chin.

“This is definitely the spot,” the mage confirmed. “It’s faint, but the echo from the spell remains.”

“And here!” Gilly exclaimed.“Tracks, heading this way.” She walked on ahead with her eyes glued to the ground.

“Any sign of struggle? Or damaging spells?” Cullen called out, his breath visible in the moonlight.

“Other than the teleportation residue and the bitter cold, nothing,” Dorian replied. 

“No sign of a struggle,” Gilly yelled back. “Two sets of tracks, side by side. You’d think they were taking a midnight stroll.”

Cullen frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t she fight? Unless…” He looked at Alistair, the first signs of fear coloring his expression. “Do you think she was being controlled?”

“I don’t know.” He wanted to suggest that maybe Morrigan had somehow convinced her to cooperate, but that wasn’t giving Ingrid enough credit. 

They trudged on through the light snow in the clearing behind Skyhold, in a region far enough away from the soldier’s tents and sentry posts where one could easily avoid being seen. Gilly and Dorian led the way and two of Cullen’s soldiers brought up the rear. The Commander’s eyes never stopped searching their surroundings for any sign of her, never wavered from their purpose.

Alistair’s fingers clenched around the lantern’s handle. He tried to concentrate on the sounds - boots crunching on the ground, Dorian complaining about the cold, his own breathing, but it was still entirely too quiet. His mind was wandering to a place he shouldn’t dare visit. They’d lost too much time already.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair said, his voice deadened by the snowfall. “This is all my fault.”

That warranted a brief glance from Cullen. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

For some reason, that made Alistair laugh. “I wish I was. Think about it. Morrigan was right.” 

Cullen said nothing, so he continued, “I _have_ been a shit king. I couldn’t stop the mage/templar war, but the Inquisition - _you_ \- managed to end it in a few short months. I couldn’t get two idiot Banns to quit feuding, but Josie managed it with a few letters and some cunning.”

They walked on, the hinges squeaking with each sway of the lantern. “I don’t know if losing Solona is the reason I’ve failed, or if I was just never cut out for this. Probably a healthy combination of both.” 

More silence from Cullen, save for the sound of his breathing. “The point is," Alistair continued, "had I been a better leader, someone who instilled faith that I could handle an Orlesian invasion, this wouldn’t have happened. So, I’m sorry.”

Cullen pressed his lips together. “We can debate this later. Keep an eye out for any sign of them,” he said.

Alistair tucked his free hand under his armpit - in his haste, he’d forgotten his gloves - and wondered what else he could do to distract himself from the shameful thoughts he was having, to ignore the dark wish for Morrigan to succeed.

Gilly suddenly stopped and gave them the “be quiet” hand signal. She pointed in an exaggerated gesture toward a nearby cluster of trees. She drew her dagger, Dorian readied his staff and Cullen crept into position behind them, withdrawing his sword slowly to avoid any unnecessary noise. Alistair and the soldiers followed suit; they couldn’t be sure what Morrigan might do if cornered, and what - or who - they might find. 

Alistair found it hard to breathe.

Gilly disappeared noiselessly beyond the tree line. Before the rest of the party could get close enough to see anything, the tracker’s voice rang out from the darkness.

“All clear! It’s the Inquisitor!”

A serrated breath escaped Cullen’s chest before he broke into a run, sheathing his sword along the way. Alistair followed, his heart thrumming in his throat.

Ingrid looked as if she had lain down for a nice nap, draped gracefully on her side over the gnarled roots of a large tree, her head resting on her arm. Alistair’s head swiveled, his eyes darting around wildly. There was no sign of Morrigan, or anyone else. 

Cullen dropped to her side and ran his hands over her as though to check for injuries. Alistair emotions were reeling; if any harm had come to her because of him…

“Dorian, what’s wrong with her?” Cullen demanded.

The mage knelt down and examined her. “A spell - mind control, most likely. Best to let it wear off; it shouldn’t be long now. She’ll feel like she’s waking from a deep sleep.” 

Dorian held a hand over Ingrid and tilted his head. “Hmm, that’s odd. There’s something else - a soft barrier, typically used as a shield from the elements. Looks like Morrigan drew the line at letting Ingrid catch cold. How droll.”

Cullen lifted her so she was cradled against his body, one of his hands cupping her face to rest it beside his own. 

“Ingrid, can you hear me?” His voice was just shy of a shout to cut through the fog of the spell.

Her eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t wake.

“Ser, would you like us to fetch a pallet?” one of his soldiers asked, but Cullen was already picking her up off of the ground.

“We’ll manage it, my good man.” Dorian’s cheer somehow didn’t feel misplaced.

The first person to speak on the way back to the keep was Alistair, when he offered to relieve Cullen and carry Ingrid for a while. Cullen responded by adjusting her in his arms and walking on in silence. 

Dorian fell into step beside Alistair. “He just saved you from a night of back pain, you know. Trust me when I say, she’s heavier than she looks. Sometimes I wonder if she includes lead in her diet.”

Alistair smirked. He hadn’t had much chance to talk to Dorian, but he rather liked the man. “I’m just glad she’s all right.”

“As am I, Your Majesty. But she’s a tough cookie, as they say.”

Alistair shook his head. “Please, it’s just Alistair.”

“You Fereldans are so quaint! It’s really quite refreshing.” Dorian’s playful tone grew more serious. “All right then - Alistair.”

They fell quiet for a moment, then Dorian spoke.

“Alistair, as a mage who specializes in necromancy, I want you to know that I thoroughly condemn what Morrigan is trying to do. Raising the dead to fight for you on the battlefield is one thing, but this? It’s a disgusting perversion of the gift of magic, an abuse of power. It makes me feel rather homesick. Are you quite certain Morrigan isn’t from Tevinter?”

Alistair gave Dorian a quizzical look.

Dorian waved his hand. “Never mind. But should you require anything - an ear, a shoulder to cry on, someone to get drunk with - you can find me in Skyhold’s library. And should you need assistance with, ah, _undoing_ anything, I am at your disposal.”

Alistair nodded weakly, glad he hadn’t eaten anything when his stomach churned hard in his abdomen. “Thank you.”

They finally reached the outer gate. Skyhold’s guards rushed forward to assist, then Ingrid began to stir in Cullen’s arms.

“Cullen? Where… where am I?” Her consonants were soft and it seemed a great effort for her to open her eyes.

Cullen brought his head toward hers; the relief in his voice was unmistakable. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

He set her down on her feet, arms still secure around her, and she clung to him, looking at her surroundings. When her disoriented eyes settled on Alistair, she seemed to snap out of her haze. She stared, her expression going from horror to what could only be described as shame.

“Alistair,” she whimpered. “Please, forgive me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say this marks the "beginning of the end", as they say. I'm not sure how many chapters there will be, but definitely not more than 20.
> 
> Your feedback has steered this fic in a different direction - so please, keep the constructive comments coming! And thanks for being patient and, of course, for reading.


	13. Alistair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this - thank you! There will be two more chapters, maybe three. Unbeta'd and I'm VERY rusty, so feel free to point out any inconsistencies or errors.

Unfortunately Ingrid hadn’t been able to tell Alistair exactly what she was sorry about. It seemed she’d had a brief moment of clarity that vanished as quickly as it appeared. When asked to explain what had happened she became confused, and after slumping against Cullen he’d ushered her off to her quarters before Alistair could ask again. She was to be examined thoroughly and allowed to sleep off the effects of whatever spells Morrigan had cast upon her. The Inquisition needed their leader in tip top shape, after all.

There was nothing Alistair could do but wait. Sleep was entirely out of the question.

His rumbling tummy led him to Skyhold’s kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, rummaging in the pantry for that sausage Josie had given him the last time he was here.

He paused. “Josie,” he said softly, remembering the lovely kiss and their evening together. Suddenly he was certain there wouldn’t be any more moments like that between them, even though he hadn’t had much time to think it over.

“I’m afraid it’s just me,” a voice said behind him. He stiffened then returned to his search, taking less care with the pantry’s contents.

“I see my instincts were correct. You still fancy a snack when you can’t sleep.” Leliana’s voice was closer behind him now. “May I assist?”

He shoved a large head of lettuce out of his way, barely noticing when it rolled off the shelf onto the ground. “Any idea where the Fereldan sausage is?” He kicked a crate to the side, almost upsetting it’s contents onto the floor. “Apparently I’ve developed a craving.”

“I’m sorry, I must confess I don’t spend much time in here. Not like Josie.”

He lifted a sack of potatoes and dropped them to the floor with a grunt. “Bloody hell, is it too much to ask for some damn meat around here?”

Leliana placed her hand on his shoulder. “Alistair.”

“Last time there were cheeses and sausages and bread and now it’s all just—“ he grabbed a bunch of carrots and threw them down— “bloody—” he swiped the remaining contents on the shelf onto the floor in one swift motion with a crash— “rabbit food!”

“Alistair!” Leliana grabbed him by the shoulders and easily spun him around, even though he was at least twice her size. “You’re spoiling our stores!”

His chest heaved and his eyes stung as he looked at his old friend, and instantly he was ashamed. Hungry and frustrated or not, it was unbecoming for a king to throw a tantrum like this. At least for the type of king he strove to be.

“I’m sorry.” He stooped to pick up the food but she stopped him.

“Leave it, we’ll clean it later.” She guided him to a chair at the counter.

He slumped over and rubbed his face. “I’m just so tired, Leliana. And hungry. And cranky. But mostly tired.”

“I know.” She walked over to a sideboard, grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses and sat across from him.

“And terrified,” he croaked into his hand.

“I know. I am too.”

Alistair lifted his head. Until now he hadn’t considered what this would mean for Leliana. She had also been close to Solona; what must she be thinking about the possibility of her old friend coming back? Was she equal parts excited and horrified at the idea like he was? Or was she only thinking of the practical implications, considering how she’d hardened over the years? The old Leliana would have wanted to worry it over, to consider all angles, to marvel at the magic involved, to speculate about the Maker’s plan in all this, but the Leliana of today didn’t seem interested in chatting about it in the slightest. That was more than fine with him.

They didn’t speak while she filled their glasses to the brim, nor while they emptied their glasses, nor while she stoked the dying fire and threw on another log.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do next?” she asked finally, refilling their glasses.

“Maker, I can’t even think about… no, I haven’t.” He felt the fire spring back to life and realized how cold he’d been.

“You must.” She was firm but not unkind. “Ingrid may not regain any memory of what occurred, and even if she does, she may not know the result of Morrigan’s treachery. The witch did say she would exit the fade on her own. I think it will do you good to get back to your routine, to try and move on. Maker willing, she failed and life will continue just as before.”

He nodded, remembering Cullen’s account of Morrigan’s plan. She was right. He’d wanted to help the Inquisition find the broodmother, to be useful in defeating Corypheus, but there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t continue his work from his throne.

“I think it may be time for me to return to Denerim.”

She seemed pleased. “I think that’s best. In the meantime I’ll spearhead the effort to track Morrigan down. We will of course keep you informed. I have eyes and ears everywhere, she’ll have to show her face eventually.”

He snorted. “Will she? She is a shapeshifter, remember? And besides, didn’t she hide in those elven mirrors for a time?”

Leliana’s hand covered his. “I did not say it would be easy, my friend. But we will — I will — do everything in my power to find her.”

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Did he want Morrigan caught? Part of him never wanted to hear her name or see her again for the rest of his life, just to forget about all of this nonsense, but another part of him wanted to know one way or the other if the mage came back alone. They say ignorance is bliss, but not knowing could possibly drive him mad.

And what if somehow Solona came back wrong or had been hurt in the process? What if she needed his help? Alistair’s stomach lurched and he shut the thought out as quick as it came. One step at a time.

“And Alistair, we shouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. My people will only be told to locate Morrigan, no more.”

“Oh really? Are you sure? Because I was planning on putting up posters all over Thedas and offering a reward. You know - WANTED: THE DEAD HERO OF FERELDEN, SOLONA AMELL, LAST SEEN SLAYING THE ARCHDEMON.” He finished off his wine and poured them both another.

Her silvery eyes glinted in the firelight, her lips pressed into a reluctant smile. “Well, I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

***

The spymaster had been right; come morning, Ingrid still had no coherent memory of what happened. Dorian hypothesized that it could be a side effect of the mind control, maybe an intended one. She told them bits and pieces of what they already knew - Morrigan grabbing her by the arm, flashes of light, walking into the woods - but nothing more than that and an overwhelming feeling of unease when she tried to remember.

She apologized profusely to Alistair but it only served to make him feel worse. If anything, he should be the one to apologize, and he did. Not only was she pulled into this unholy drama but now she was being made to feel at fault for anything that might have happened. At least she was unharmed and herself again. There was nothing left for him here at Skyhold, it was time go go home.

While Alistair’s people prepared the horses and loaded the carriages for the long journey, Ingrid passed judgement on Thom Rainier. She absolved him of his crime of impersonating Warden Blackwall and the murders and gave him a chance to truly atone. He was to continue his good deeds for the Inquisition as a new man under his true name. Alistair thought it was too lenient, and he guessed Cullen did as well, but truth be told he had bigger issues on his mind and didn’t dwell on it.

It was just before midday when the caravan was ready to depart. The days were long this time of year in the Frostbacks, they could still get a lot of traveling in before nightfall. Alistair had them all take lunch so he could say his farewells.

First was Leliana. They discussed coordinating efforts to find and destroy the broodmother the darkspawn general had told them about. She held onto him tightly, kissed him, promised to visit, and repeated the vow she’d made to him in the kitchen just hours ago.

He found Ingrid in the library. She tried to hide the booklet she was nose-deep in when he approached, but he caught the title before it disappeared under some parchment; “Resurrection: Case Studies and Misconceptions”.

“Is it time already?” she tittered, rising from her chair.

He tried to smile; it was surprisingly difficult. He was someone that could crack a joke in the middle of an attacking darkspawn horde. “I’m afraid so.”

She embraced him and he recalled with embarrassment how he’d gawked at her when they’d first met. He’d almost come to think of her as a sister now.

Ingrid pulled back and smiled at him, then lightly punched him on the arm. “It won't be the same without you around here. You do realize you’re basically a member of the Inquisition now?”

That brought a true smile to his face. “I’m humbled and honored, Inquisitor. And next time you’re in Denerim, I’ll make you an official member of my court. Cullen, too,” he hastily added. “All of you.”

“Speaking of Cullen, he’s really going to miss you.”

Alistair cocked a brow. “Oh, somehow I doubt that. He’s probably in his tower now, counting down the grains of sand until I leave.”

Ingrid shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. He adores you.”

Alistair crossed his arms. “He told you this, did he?”

“Well… no, not exactly. But a woman knows these things.”

“I guess I’ll take your word for it. But for what it’s worth, he’s a good man and a fine commander. I’m proud to know him.”

“He is, isn’t he?” A dark cloud fell over Ingrid’s features, and when she opened her mouth to speak, Alistair held up his hand.

“Please, Ingrid, as a parting gift, no more apologies. From either of us.”

She forced a smile. “All right then. Farewell, Your Majesty.”

***

He found Josie in her office, giving explicit instructions to a flustered assistant.

“Do you understand everything I just told you?” She scribbled onto a parchment.

“Yes miss.”

“Wonderful. Now make haste.”

Alistair stepped into the room as the dwarf scurried past him.

Josie looked up and gave him and unreadable smile. “Ah, Your Majesty. Are you well prepared for the journey? I hope the provisions we supplied were sufficient.”

“What? Oh, yes, more than sufficient. I think we’ll have enough to last us another few days after we arrive in Denerim. And thank you for the sausage.”

“It’s no trouble at all, and do give us ample notice if you'd like some more. We’d consider it an honor to supply the King of Ferelden with one of our signature recipes.” She signed the paper with a flourish and stepped out from behind her desk to meet him.

“Listen, Josie, I-“

She held up a hand. “Please, say no more.” Her expression was filled with sorrow. “I cannot imagine what you must be going through. I only wish you the best, Alistair.”

He took her by the hand. “I want you to know that our time together, it was wonderful. Had things been different, who knows? Maybe we could have made a go of things.”

She smiled wistfully. “Perhaps. Or perhaps we were just two souls in need of comfort at this particular time and place. There is no shame in that.” She kissed him on the lips, briefly and sweetly.

“Call on me should you ever need assistance with any more feuds.”

“If I ever need dirt on anyone, you’ll be the first person I turn to.”

The Antivan’s smile was delightfully wicked. “Excellent.”

***

Cursing wafted from the crack underneath the door to Cullen’s office. Alistair recalled the circumstances of their first meeting in Skyhold and couldn’t help but grin a little. This time it sounded like perfectly normal cursing not caused by lyrium withdrawals.

Alistair knocked. “What is it?” came the gruff reply.

“It’s who, rather. Me!”

The door opened and a red-faced commander gestured for him to enter.

“My apologies,” Cullen said. “It’s been quite the morning.”

“Sounds like it,” Alistair said, smelling something sharp and noticing the black liquid pooling onto the desk from underneath the inkwell. Some of it had gotten on the stacks of paper. He also noticed that Cullen’s fingers were stained. “And looks like it.”

Cullen grabbed a cloth and tried to sop up the ink. “The inkwell has suddenly developed a crack. Conveniently just small enough for the ink to slowly leak out all morning, unnoticed until it was too late.”

“That’s unfortunate. Here,” Alistair handed him his kerchief.

“Thanks. And it’s not unfortunate, it’s a prank.”

“Are you sure? Could just be an old inkwell, or it’s faulty.”

Cullen eyed him while he wiped down the desk. “Quite sure.”

“Ah. Disgruntled soldier? That takes guts. I almost admire the person.”

He tossed the ink-drenched cloth into the wastebasket. “More like a cheeky elf.” He clenched his hands into fists. “One of these days I’ll get her back, I swear it.”

“Aw, Skyhold has prank wars? That sounds like fun. I’ll have to start that at the palace. ‘Course, if I’m involved it might be rather one-sided, can’t imagine anyone being bold enough to prank their king, no matter what I say to the contrary. Although I’ll bet Teagan would be game… ” Alistair stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Cullen looked at him incredulously before changing the subject. “So, I take it you’re leaving soon?”

“See, I was just telling Ingrid that you couldn’t wait for me to leave.”

Cullen tried to wipe his hands clean. “Not at all, I just inferred due to the timing of your visit—“

“I’m joking, Cullen. Yes, we’re all set to depart. Just making the rounds, saying my goodbyes.”

Cullen smirked. “You’ll have to forgive me, my detection for humor is a bit off at the moment.” He glanced over the ink-stained desk before turning to Alistair.

“Well, I must say we’ve gotten quite used to having you around. It’s been an honor, and your assistance has been invaluable.” He paused to look Alistair in the eye. “With _all_ matters.”

“You flatter me, sir. I only wish I could remain with this fine organization but it’s time to return home. My people need me, etcetera etcetera. And of course I’ll be doing whatever I can from Denerim to aid the Inquisition in defeating Corypheus.”

Cullen stepped closer. “For that you have our gratitude. And we’ll of course keep you abreast of our affairs in Ferelden. I, ah… ” He frowned at his hands. “I’d shake your hand but… “

Alistair shrugged. “What’s a little ink between friends?”

Cullen hesitated before grasping Alistair’s hand with a firm, hearty shake. The commander’s pleasant expression grew troubled; Alistair braced himself.

“You’ll be in my prayers, Alistair. Let us hope that Morrigan failed at her task and the Maker was able to keep Solona at his side. My duty is to the Inquisition of course, but should you need me for anything, or simply wish to correspond, you know how to reach me. I will help in any way that I can.”

Alistair was surprised to find that Cullen’s words of comfort cut him to the core. Maybe because he too had loved Solona once and knew more than anyone what was at stake. Maybe because the man had been through more tragedy than should befall any one person, was struggling to quit lyrium while trying to stop the end of the world while his true love fought off danger at ever turn and yet he still offered his support to a bloody king with an entire country at his command. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Thank you, Cullen. And good luck to you. With _all_ matters.”


	14. Interlude

_ Somewhere deep in the Southron Hills, Ferelden _

 

The old woman was jarred out of her nap by a sound she hadn’t heard in weeks — the chimes on her shop’s front door.

“What in blazes?” she muttered as she shuffled to her feet, both annoyed at the interruption and eager for a paying customer. She owned the place outright and had managed to build up a decent savings from her days on the black market, but it was always nice to make a little more scratch.

“I’ll be right witcha!” she called in her best old crone voice as she checked her appearance in the mirror. Not creepy enough. She mussed up her hair, rubbed her eyes, made sure to hunch her back, curled her lip and exaggerated a limp as she went out front to greet her latest sucker.

A hooded figure — a woman, judging by the boots — was perusing the shelves of books, occult items and assortment of herbs and animal parts floating in jars.

“Welcome to my shop of curiosities, my dear,” the shopkeeper croaked ominously. “What brings you here? Is it a love potion you desire?” She gestured to a shelf full of dusty vials. “Or perhaps you wish to curse a rival for a man’s affections?” She licked her lips. "Or a woman's, mm?"

The hooded woman did not turn around when she spoke. “I’m not some lovesick village girl you can fool into buying scented oils and colored water, old woman. And spare me the crone act. I’m looking for restoratives; lots of them. I was told I could find them here but clearly I was given false information. Good day.” The woman turned to leave.

The shopkeeper straightened up and spoke naturally. “Wait! Don’t go. You’ve come to the right place.” She couldn’t recall the last time she had an actual mage as a customer. Less of a markup on those items, but still, something was better than nothing.

The woman turned slowly, and even though the light shining through window should have illuminated her face, it remained a black hole underneath the hood. Black, save for two piercing golden eyes.

The shopkeeper unlocked the door to the cellar. “Follow me.”


	15. Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later...

Three years. 

It had been three years since Cassandra had asked Cullen to join her in forming the Inquisition. He was barely holding Kirkwall and his own self together and he’d almost turned her down, for a myriad of reasons. But when he had opened his mouth to decline her offer, he’d accepted instead. In his heart in that moment it had seemed right, sensible, honorable, and he put faith in himself and the Maker that the rest would sort itself out. Of course, that was before a magical explosion killed her Most Holy and rendered a tear in the sky that rained demons all over Thedas. In the midst of everything that followed he never could have imagined that he would find sobriety, love, friendship, and — dare he say it? — happiness.

And now, three years later, the Inquisition was triumphant in defeating Corypheus, helped to end the war and managed to influence the selection of the new Divine, who turned out to be their very own spymaster. They’d even managed, with the help of the King, to eradicate a broodmother and a swarm of darkspawn. What had once been a scrappy organization scoffed at by the chantry was now almost as powerful as any monarchy, some said moreso, and they were beholden to no one.

While Cullen was proud of their accomplishments he felt uneasy about their power, as he’d seen firsthand what can happen when organizations grow unchecked. And the more power Ingrid had, the more enemies she risked making. Soon the Inquisitor and her advisors would have to decide what came next, and he felt in his bones that his time as Commander of the Inquisition would come to an end. He felt an odd mixture of relief, excitement and wariness for what lie ahead.

Cullen mulled all of this over while he walked the moonlit ramparts back to his quarters. The days were becoming less busy for him; today he even had time for a few rounds of drinks with the inner circle. He was pleasantly inebriated, his soul full of camaraderie and his mind full of delightfully bawdy jokes courtesy of Sera and Bull. Still, he was very much looking forward to being alone again.

The nights were getting much colder in the Frostbacks, so Cullen grabbed another fur from the chest and added it to the pile on his bed. He nestled himself under the warmth of the animal hides, blew out the candle and let sleep overtake him.

Something woke him sometime later. He sat up and instinctively grabbed the dagger he kept in the bedside table, just in case.

Cullen listened for a few moments, heard nothing, and slowly laid back down. It was probably that bird of Leliana’s that liked to torment him from time to time. He really should repair the hole in his roof.

His eyes drifted shut when he heard another sound, louder - a creak in the floorboards below. Ingrid was in Antiva on bridesmaid duties with bride-to-be Josie. Besides, she would know better than to creep into his tower in the middle of the night.

He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, grabbed the knife again, crouched on bare feet wearing only his linen trousers, and peered down the ladder.

At first he saw nothing, then a robed figure passed underneath him in the dark. Someone was in his office.

Cullen’s mind raced and his heart pounded; if he called out, the person might flee and he’d never discover who they where or their purpose. If it was an assassin, why were they milling about his office? He recalled his training with Sera on stealth tactics and decided this was the time to put what he’d learned into action.

Careful not to make any noise, Cullen stepped onto his bed, clamped the blade between his teeth, jumped up and grabbed the edge of the hole in his ceiling. He hauled himself up onto the roof in one motion, crept to the edge and dropped down silently in front of his door, grimacing at the impact the landing had on his bare ankles.

As quietly as he could manage he pulled the door open, just a crack, and peered in. The hooded figure was standing over his desk, seemingly searching for something. A spy, perhaps? There was nothing there at the moment but requisitions for standard supplies, certainly nothing confidential.

He watched for a moment, assessing the situation, and saw a slender hand reach out from underneath the robes and fondle the fur on his cloak hanging over the back of his chair. A woman’s hand.

Cullen gripped the dagger while he watched and waited. The woman turned to his bookcase, and he saw an opportunity.

While she had her back to him, he moved with a silent burst of speed into the room, grabbed the woman from behind and pressed the dagger to her throat. She gasped against him.

“One false move and I won’t hesitate to slice your throat open,” Cullen growled. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The woman breathed heavily but didn’t struggle.

“Speak!” Cullen shouted, adjusting the dagger against her jugular. “I don’t take mercy on intruders.”

“Cullen,” she breathed, her breath hitching. “Cullen, calm down, it’s _me_.”

Something about her voice tickled at his memory but he ignored it. He was growing impatient. “Identify yourself, now!”

“Please, I mean you no harm. It’s me, Solona.”

His breath hitched and he relaxed the pressure slightly against her throat; could it be? _No_ , he thought, _she knows my history. It’s a trick so I’ll let my guard down._ He tightened his grip on her.

“Do you take me for a fool? You have exactly five seconds to start talking. Who are you? Who sent you?“

“Cullen, just look at me and you’ll see I speak the truth. I know it’s hard to believe but please, put the knife down. You’re hurting me.”

He held on. “Nice try. A mage could use a masking spell.”

“Okay, okay, ask me something only I - that only Amell would know. Will that convince you?”

A strange sort of fear crept into Cullen’s belly, and a memory popped up that he hadn’t thought of since he left Kinloch Hold.

“What was the last book she lent me, before she left with Duncan?”

She didn’t respond. He felt her chest heaving under his arms.

“I knew it,” Cullen sneered, steadying the dagger and preparing himself for what he might have to do. “You’re not really—“

“ _Cautionary Tales for the Adventurous_ ,” she blurted out, and the dagger slipped from Cullen’s fingers onto the stone floor with a clatter.

“No,” he rasped as he staggered away from her. “It cannot be. I… I must be dreaming. This is all a dream.”

“I’m afraid it’s all too real.” She pulled her hood down as she turned to face him, revealing the face of long dead Solona Amell. She looked just as he remembered her; large, dark eyes, gleaming chestnut hair, beautiful.

Cullen grabbed fistfuls of his hair as he gaped at her. “I — I must still be drunk, then. If this is real then you're a demon, or this is some wicked, foul, _evil_ magic,” He dropped to his knees, clamped his eyes shut and began to pray rapidly.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

He whimpered as the thing that was Solona came closer and recoiled when she touched his shoulder.

“Cullen, it’s just me. Not someone disguised as me, or a demon, or a walking corpse.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “It’s really me. I’m alive, just as I was before. I know it sounds crazy but you must trust me.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Somehow, he knew she spoke the truth. He had been around enough evil to know what it felt like and he sensed none of it now. “Morrigan… she, she was… ”

“Successful? Yes.” She looked down at herself. “I must say, she did quite the bang-up job. Everything’s where it should be. I’m just like I remembered! Except for the fatal injuries, I suppose.”

If Cullen wasn’t sure it was Solona before, he was now. Only she would joke at a time like this.

She extended a hand to him. He blinked at it for a few beats, still trying to absorb what he was looking at before he took it and got to his feet.

“But, _how_?” he asked.

She smiled grimly. “Oh, I think you already have a pretty good idea. Besides, does it really matter?”

She took a careful step closer, growing serious. “I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this. I really didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t very well just announce myself at Skyhold’s door and I figured you wouldn’t believe me if I wrote a letter. I was going to leave you a note to meet me later, but I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was.” She shrugged. “Stealth was never my strong suit.”

He reached out — slowly — and ran his fingertips lightly down the side of her face.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” he spoke barely above a whisper.

She nodded as her tears began to flow freely. “It really is. Oh, you’ve no idea how _good_ it is to see you again.”

Cullen gathered his old friend into his arms and held her as tightly as he dared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one had more but I realized it was getting way too long, so I had to cut it at a natural place, but that made it shorter than previous chapters so apologies for the inconsistency. Thanks for sticking around!


	16. Cullen

“More tea?”

Solona nodded. “Thank you.”

“Are you warm? Do you want another fur?” Cullen asked as he fetched the teapot. “You shouldn’t have traveled so far on foot in this cold, you could have… er… “

“Died?” She smiled. “I’m fine, just a little chilly is all. I do appreciate the concern.”

He refilled her cup and resumed his position at the foot of the bed. “So you were unconscious all that time?” he asked.

She adjusted the furs over her legs. “Yes. I only awoke a short time ago. While I was ‘asleep’, Morrigan fed me potions and herbs and cast restoration spells. I think she even moved me a couple of times to different locations. No one could ever say Morrigan isn’t dedicated, that’s for sure.” She sipped her tea, warming her fingers on the cup. 

“What happened when you woke?”

“Well, I didn’t remember much, not at first. I knew who I was but I could only remember up to the battle of Denerim. I was so confused, I thought ‘Where is everyone? Where’s Alistair?’. Morrigan made up excuses, said we’d been separated from the group and had to hide out for one reason or another. Then after a couple of days it came back; the battle, my death, all of it. She said it was important for me to remember things on my own, something about cognitive acceptance, blah blah.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what that was like. What did you do?”

“What anyone would do - I flipped out. Cried, screamed, tried to run, you name it. Morrigan put up with all of it. Held me until I went to sleep, tried to soothe me. After I calmed down, she explained how she’d done it and why.” She glanced at him sheepishly. “That part I think you already know.”

Cullen nodded solemnly. He opened his mouth to ask something, but then thought better of it.

She leaned forward. “What? You can ask me anything.”

He licked his lips. “All right. Morrigan said something about making your corporeal state whole, after retrieving you from the fade. Does that mean she didn’t need your physical form?”

“My body? Apparently not. You’ve just landed on the strangest part about all this, at least for me. I’m actual flesh —“ she pulled on her skin to demonstrate, “but my body is still lying in its grave. Morrigan says to think of it like a husk, a crysalis, that this is my true form, my soul. I still don’t know how to think about it, honestly.” 

Cullen stared at her. “Fascinating.”

She gripped the teacup and avoided his gaze. “On second thought, this is giving me the creeps. Ask me something else?”

“Oh, sorry. Do you remember anything from the time where you were… you know… ”

“Dead as a doornail?” 

Cullen cringed. “Yes.”

“It’s all right, you can say it. I was dead, now I’m not. But to answer your question; no, unfortunately. I don’t have any great wisdoms to pass on from the Maker or secrets of the Fade to divulge. I only remember slaying the arch demon, then waking up with Morrigan in a damp cave in the middle of the Kocari Wilds.” She snorted. “Guess she took me there for old times’ sake.”

Cullen frowned. “Leliana’s people scoured that area and found nothing. She looked high and low for Morrigan after that stunt she pulled with the Inquisitor.”

Solona nodded. “Morrigan’s become very powerful, Cullen. I don’t know how she evaded detection, but she did.”

“Where is she now?”

“I’m not sure. As soon as I fully recovered I insisted on leaving that place. She didn’t try to stop me. When we said our goodbyes she told me that she would find me again someday and that if I or anyone else tried to find her, they would fail. And I believe her.”

“And so you came here?”

“Instead of going to Denerim, you mean? Yes.” She slurped the last bits of her tea. “So, here I am. In the flesh.”

He scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh oh,” she said with a glint in her eye, “that neck thing means you’re going to say something uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

Cullen couldn’t help but smirk. She could still read him like a book. “Well, I don’t mean to pry into your personal matters, but you really should go to him.’

She sighed and shifted on the bed so her legs hung over the side. “I know, I know. But I’m terrified of seeing him again. I needed to see people I trust and I knew you and Leliana were here, so I came to Skyhold straight away.”

“Why are you so afraid?”

“Look how you reacted, and we’re just friends! Alistair was — is — my everything. I can’t bear the thought of him recoiling from me, thinking I’m some kind of abomination.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I don’t know what you expected. Sneaking into someone’s room in the middle of the night who thinks you’re dead isn’t the best way to go about announcing you’ve returned.”

“I believe we’ve established that. But I need to think of a way to approach him in way that he won’t freak out and where nobody else knows.”

Cullen thought for a moment. “Why don’t I write a letter? Tell him you’re on your way to Denerim. I can explain the circumstances, tell him when and where to meet you. He must know I would never lie about something like this, that I would only write if I was certain it was really you.”

“Someone reads all of his correspondence, though.”

“I’ll use a code name for you, an anagram perhaps. Alistair is a smart man, he’ll know it’s you.”

Her eyes went wide. “Cullen, you’re a genius!” 

He shrugged. “I know.”

She laughed. “You know, confidence suits you. I still remember how nervous you used to get around me.”

He gave her an amused look. “True, but I also seem to remember a certain fidgety mage who played with her hair whenever we talked.”

She smiled wistfully. “I guess we were both just awkward babies then, weren’t we?”

“We were indeed.” His smile fell. “Both thrust into adulthood in the worst ways imaginable, whether we were ready or not.”

“Indeed.”

They sat on his bed in silence for a few moments, and the thought that had been nagging Cullen since he’d accepted that Solona had actually returned overwhelmed him. 

He turned sharply on the bed to face her. “Solona, there’s something I want to say to you.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Cullen, there’s really no need—“

“No! Please,” he insisted. “I need to say this.”

She nodded. “All right.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “For so many years I’ve carried this shame for the way I behaved when you returned to the circle. The things I said, the things I wanted you to do, it was unworthy of me. And now by some miracle you’re here, right in front of me, and I can finally ask for your forgiveness. I was not the same man you knew, and I’ve worked hard to put that all behind me.”

She cupped his jaw with her slender hand before letting it drop to her lap. “I won’t lie; I was angry with you. But I understand, and I forgave you long ago. I’m just so glad to see you not only alive but thriving. It warms my heart to see you happy, and you deserve it.”

Even though Alistair had told him she’d forgiven him, it was nothing compared to hearing it directly from her. His heart, his mind, his soul felt a little bit lighter, and he squeezed her hand in gratitude.

“You too deserve happiness. Which is why you should be reunited with Alistair as soon as possible.”

She stood up. “I will, okay? I want to see him — there’s nothing more that I could want. But it also scares the void out of me.” She ruffled her hair and paced the room. “I’ve had time to process all of this, and I’m fine with it, but what if he isn’t? I mean, I shouldn’t be here. What if he can’t get past the fact that I was dead? That I was put together again by magic? Or worse, what if he met someone else?”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak but she kept going.

“Morrigan said there was no one else but she’s been healing me for the last year. A year’s a long time! What if he’s about to propose to some blonde beauty?”

“The witch seeemd quite sure he needed you at his side.”

Solona stopped in front of him. “Look, Morrigan was a dear friend to me when we traveled together during the blight. But I’m not blind to her nature. Morrigan only does what’s best for Morrigan. I was her first friend, her only friend and I think losing me was too much for her. She might have even convinced herself that she brought me back to help Alistair repel an Orlesian invasion. And a war would be inconvenient for her, too.”

“Are you angry with Morrigan, for what she did?”

Her laugh was both tired and bitter. “I ask myself that question constantly. Selfishly, I’m not, because let’s be honest, who doesn’t want to live? Who wouldn’t take advantage of a loophole like this if given the chance? You can sacrifice yourself and vanquish the evil, but then you can still have your life back somehow and see the ones you love again.” 

She grew quiet. “But when I think about how my resurrection will affect others - Alistair, Leliana, you, all of Thedas - is it too much for them? Would it have been better had I stayed dead? I just don’t know.”

“Yes, it was a shock. But it’s only been a short while and I’ve accepted your return.” He shook his head. “I don’t know the state of the King’s personal affairs, but I cannot believe he would turn you away. He still loves you.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “He told you that? I know he was here.”

“No, not exactly. He didn’t have to. It was written all over his face whenever he mentioned you, or if someone else did. And that doesn’t just fade away after a year. Especially after discovering Morrigan’s scheme.”

Solona sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed. “I thought I had seen some weird things during the blight, but this takes the cake.”

Cullen nodded. “I’d be inclined to agree.”

He rose and gathered up the teacups. “I think it’s best you stay here tonight, get some rest. You must be exhausted. We’ll convene with Leliana and figure out a plan in the morning.”

When he turned around, he wasn’t entirely surprised to discover that she had fallen fast asleep. 

***

Cullen’s eyes fluttered against the bright morning light. Immediately he was disoriented when he realized he was wrapped in furs on the floor. Had he been thrashing again and fell off the bed? He thought he was past all that.

His eyes snapped open and he remembered he’d slept on the floor on purpose because Solona Amell was here. Alive. Sleeping in his bed. 

He sat up and looked; his bed was empty.

Cullen rubbed his eyes and stood, looking around the room for a sign of her. Nothing. Perhaps it really had been a dream? It was so real, so vivid, so—

“Good morning!” Solona called up the ladder. Not a dream.

He peered down to see her climbing up. 

“You must keep quiet,” he said as she breached the top. “No one can know you’re here.”

“Oh yeah, suppose a woman going in and out of here in the morning would look pretty bad, wouldn’t it?” He noticed she was carrying something.

“Wait - you left my quarters?” Cullen asked in disbelief. “And what is that?”

“I was famished so I raided the kitchen. And don’t worry, nobody saw me. I was very careful.” She reached into the sack and offered him a fresh sweetbun. “Hungry? They’re fresh from the oven.”

He shook his head. “I never eat this early.”

She shrugged and shoved it into her mouth while she plopped onto the bed.

“Erm, I need to dress,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Her mouth was full of sweetbun.

Cullen didn’t remember her being so brazen. He wondered if it was from the trials of the blight or a side effect of coming back from the dead. He wasn’t a blushy 19 year-old templar anymore either but he still valued his privacy. 

He gestured to the ladder and cleared his throat. “Feel free to sit at my desk, but in Andraste’s name, do not answer the door.”

“Ok, I can take a hint, sorry.” She took her sack and disappeared down below.

***

Other than receiving some funny looks while moving through the keep with a mysterious hooded woman, Cullen managed to get Solona to the war council undiscovered to meet with Leliana. When the spymaster laid eyes on her old friend she cried out and beamed, more than Cullen had ever seen Leliana smile, and it deeply moved him. He was struck then by how many lives Amell had touched, including his own, and he was proud to be among those she considered a friend. 

He left the room as they were clinging to each other, laughing and crying in equal measure, and it wasn’t until the following day that Leliana found him running standard drills. He turned things over to his second in command and followed her to a quiet area.

“She’s leaving in the morning for Denerim, and I’m going with her,” Leliana stated once she was sure no one was near. 

“Are you sure that’s wise? Won’t it look odd that the newly named Divine is traveling to Ferelden, then back here, then to Val Royeaux for the ceremony?”

“What of it? I’ve been promising a visit to my old friend the King before I become Divine, nothing about my trip would look remotely suspicious.” 

“And I assume you’ll assign her an identity of some sort?”

She smiled slightly. “My assistant, a distant relation to the Amells who happens to bear a striking resemblance to Solona, to whom the King may take a liking to during my time at the palace.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “That… that could very well work. But to look so exactly like her? Won’t that seem strange?”

“I’ve thought of that. As we speak our friend is getting a new haircut and dye. A little work on the eyebrows, some makeup, you’d be suprised at what that can do to change the look of a face.”

He nodded. “Understood. I can prepare a letter to Alistair at once. I will use-“

“A code name for her?” Leliana pulled a rolled-up parchment bearing the Inquisition’s seal from her satchel and tipped it in his direction. “Already taken care of. I was careful to couch my words so anyone unfamiliar with the situation could never guess the real meaning. I’m on my way to the rookery to hand it to our fastest raven. The King should receive it by nightfall. I know Alistair, he will need time to prepare for… something such as this.”

“Indeed.” Cullen shifted his weight. He felt strange, as if he should be doing more. “Well, if there’s anything else you or Amell should need before her departure you have only to ask. Supplies, gear, I can arrange sparring sessions if she’s rusty or-”

The Spymaster rested a hand on his bracer. “Just be her friend, Cullen. Our dear Amell has a strange journey ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who's still reading. Been dealing with huge upheaval in my life in the past year and haven't been writing, but I'd like to finish this!


End file.
